


The Let's Get Friendly Affair

by LadyRa



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-31
Updated: 2003-01-31
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRa/pseuds/LadyRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya has to woo someone to get information out of him.  Can Napoleon just sit back and watch?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Let's Get Friendly Affair

Illya and Napoleon eyed their mark. They'd been watching for an hour, trying to determine the best way to approach him.

"He is a lover of men, Napoleon."

Napoleon flashed him a look. "How do you know that?"

Illya rolled his eyes. "I know."

Napoleon guessed that if anyone would know, it would be Illya, as he was cut from the same cloth. 

"I will seduce him and get the password." Illya’s voice was definite.

Napoleon looked at the mark again. He was a handsome man, a few inches over six feet tall, with short, curly, light brown hair. He looked like a quarterback. Actually, according to their files, he had been a quarterback in college. Napoleon guessed that with that face he'd worked his way through all the cheerleaders. Or maybe not, if Illya was right. Napoleon was surprised that their research department had missed this salient fact. He intended to have a stern talk to the department head when he got back to headquarters. "I could do it."

Illya let out a disgusted snort.

Napoleon made it right back at him. "I could. I've slept with men before." He waggled his eyebrows at his partner. "Does that surprise you?"

Illya sighed. "No, Napoleon. With your libido it wouldn't surprise me if you slept with a goat."

Napoleon slugged him on the arm. 

Illya jerked his arm away. "Ow."

"Sissy boy."

Illya flashed his partner an annoyed look. "Fine, you want him, go get him." He gestured emphatically. "Go. I'll bet he doesn't even notice you."

"Partner, everyone notices me." 

"He won't. You might have slept with men, but you don't know how to put out the right signals. You didn't even pick up on the fact that he was homosexual. We know better than to try to bed straight men; it is a dangerous occupation."

"I'll bet you five dollars I can do it."

"Make it ten." Illya pulled out a ten and laid it on the table. "Show me you have it." Napoleon made too many bets when he had too little cash.

Napoleon scowled and pulled out his wallet. He retrieved two fives and put them on the table with a dramatic flair. "Oh ye of little faith."

Illya leaned back into the booth. "I'll be right here. You have five minutes."

"Five minutes?"

"If you can't get his interest in five minutes, it means you're completely off his radar." Illya leaned forward and touched Napoleon's arm. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Napoleon grinned, feeling victory in the air. "Why? Are you afraid I'll win the bet?"

Illya shook his head, a sly grin on his face. "No, I'm not sure your ego will recover. It could be fatal."

"Laugh it up, Comrade, laugh it up. I'll enjoy spending your money."

Illya indicated with a sweep of his hand that the playing field was all Napoleon's.

Napoleon straightened his tie, brushed back the loose lock of hair that was always hanging down his forehead, and stood. He took a last swallow of his drink. "Watch the master at work, boy."

Illya's eyes followed Napoleon as he headed for the bar. He was reasonably certain that Napoleon would lose the bet; he desperately wanted Napoleon to lose the bet. Not because of the money, or even because Napoleon would tease him incessantly if he won.

No, he wanted Napoleon to lose because Illya didn't want to watch him wooing a man, kissing a man, seducing a man into bed. Illya didn't mind Napoleon's dalliances with women. It never crossed his mind to be jealous. Napoleon was one thing and he was another. But everything would be different if the lines of demarcation were blurred. 

Napoleon's announcement that he had slept with men had taken Illya by surprise. He hadn't known, never would have guessed. Napoleon didn’t put out signals that he was interested in men, or intrigued by them in a sexual way. Illya glanced at their prey. Did Napoleon find him attractive? Was that why he had volunteered? Illya didn't like that thought, either. 

Napoleon was at the bar now. The mark was talking to two other men at the other end. He glanced up and looked at Napoleon. Illya's eyes flashed to Napoleon to see what he would do. Illya grinned. Napoleon was doing exactly what he expected, he was smiling, nodding his head, and acting available, something Illya had seen him do a thousand times when a pretty woman noticed him. But he had heterosexual written all over him.

Napoleon may have slept with some men, but he didn't know how to relax and be openly available to a man. Illya could tell the situation was making his partner uncomfortable--even if Napoleon wasn't consciously aware of it--and he was putting out a bit too much macho energy.

Illya relaxed as he saw the mark's eyes move off Napoleon quickly and turn back to his friends. Illya had to give his friend credit. He knew the moment had passed and he didn't try to stay at the bar and force it.

Napoleon slid dispiritedly back into the booth. "Shit." He pointed a finger at Illya. "Don't even say it. You might not be any luckier than me."

Illya let out a scoffing noise. "It will take me ten seconds. I will make him want me, but will leave before he can make contact. Then tomorrow he will be searching for me, I will suddenly appear and he will be mine."

"Just like that."

Illya nodded. "Just like that."

Napoleon was afraid he was right. He hated it when the mark was a man. Why couldn't he have been a woman? "Why don't we just shoot him with a sleep dart, and drug him to get his password? It would serve him right."

"Because we cannot afford to have him get suspicious."

Napoleon sighed. "Why do people think they can create a new veridical and not expect to come up against government agencies or organizations like THRUSH?"

"He is a…" Illya wiggled his fingers around, trying to find the right word.

Napoleon helped out. "A snake? A shyster? An opportunist?" 

Illya nodded. "Yes, that is the word. He is an opportunist. He thinks he can create a new master truth drug and then sell it to the highest bidder."

"Well, once THRUSH realizes they can't break into his computer program either, they won't be happy. They don't like bidding wars any more than we do. But rather than getting the information out of him the nice way like we plan to do, I'm sure they'll just kidnap him and force it out of him."

"It will take them at least another thirty-six hours to figure out they cannot break into his data…"

Napoleon interrupted him. "Why will it take them so long? You already figured it out."

"Because I'm better than anyone they have." He glanced at Napoleon. "May I finish?"

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "By all means."

"As I was saying, it will still take them some time. And by then I will know what his password is."

Napoleon grinned. Illya's often pragmatic approach to right and wrong amused him. "So then they can have him?"

"Then they can have him." Illya dismissed the man with a contemptuous gesture.

"Of course, THRUSH will try to make the veridical too."

"It won't matter, because we will make it first, and be able to create an antidote. It will make it useless to them." 

Napoleon chewed the inside of his cheek. "I still think we should just kidnap him."

"Why are you being so difficult?" Illya considered his partner. "You just don't want to lose the bet." He leaned forward. "These were our orders-- get the information without him being any the wiser. This is the best way. People tend to be most indiscreet when they have sex on their mind."

Napoleon barely kept a grimace off his face. 

Apparently not successfully. Illya grinned and stood up. "I'll meet you upstairs in the hotel room in fifteen minutes." He tapped the bills on the table. "Bring my money."

"It's not yours yet."

"It will be." Illya knew men found him attractive. It was an easy playing field to him. Men were simple, as opposed to women, whom Illya found largely incomprehensible.

Napoleon gestured with bad grace for Illya to get going. Then he slouched back in the booth to watch. It was important to the mission that Illya be successful, but Napoleon didn't want him to be. Usually when Illya took on these sorts of assignments, he did it on his own. But seeing as he was here, Napoleon knew he would be expected to do surveillance. Napoleon wasn't sure he wanted to watch Illya seduce someone or listen to their love talk. 

Napoleon never gave it a thought when Illya was listening in while he wooed a woman. In fact, it sort of turned him on that Illya was a silent witness. He suddenly wondered if Illya minded. Napoleon sighed and then started paying attention. Illya had arrived at the bar, standing in the same spot Napoleon had just vacated. Napoleon knew Illya had done that on purpose to prove a point.

Napoleon started counting. One second. The mark looked up. Two seconds. His eyes found Illya. Three seconds. Napoleon glanced at Illya. He was looking down at the bar, his fingers playing with a napkin. Four seconds. Napoleon glanced at the mark. He was still looking at Illya. Five seconds. Napoleon looked at Illya. His head lifted, his eyes connected with the mark. 

Six seconds. Napoleon looked at the mark. He was smiling. Seven seconds. Napoleon looked at Illya. He saw a flash of a smile, and then the eyes were back on the bar, his fingers back with the napkin. Eight seconds. The mark was standing up. Nine seconds. Napoleon looked for Illya. He was gone. Napoleon saw him walking out the door. Ten seconds. The mark followed him out.

Napoleon cursed. It was going to be a long week. He picked up the bills with his thumb and forefinger and held them in front of him as if they were dipped in poison. Then he made his way back to their hotel room.

Illya met him at the door with his hand out. Napoleon slapped the bills in his palm. Before Illya could rub it in, Napoleon forestalled him with a question. "What did you do that I didn't do? I don't get it." He really wanted to know. 

Illya closed the door and sat on his bed. "It is the way you hold your body, the way you look at a man. It just marks you as straight."

"So, show me. Show me how you look at a man. Show me what you do with your body." Napoleon sat on his bed, across from Illya.

"Napoleon." Illya sighed, shifting restlessly, his forehead creased with a frown.

"No, I mean it. I might have to play this role for real some time and I need to understand what I did wrong."

Illya let out a breath. "It is a state of mind, Napoleon. You do it naturally for women, because that is what your body understands. You instinctively know how to stand, how to gesture to communicate to them that you are the man and she is the woman."

"And that's the wrong signal for a man?"

Illya nodded. "It is like yin and yang. You are familiar with that?"

"The circle with the light and dark squiggly thing."

Illya let out an exaggerated I'm-doing-my-best-to-be-patient-here-but-you're-killing-me breath. "It is a symbol that represents opposites and how they complement each other. Man/woman, masculine/feminine, light/dark, earth/sky. When you are with a woman you create that polarity without even thinking about it. You are yang, and the woman is yin. You fit."

"But…"

"But with two men, it is more complicated. You are both yang and both yin. You need to know how to communicate both messages. Tonight, all you were communicating was yang."

"So what did you do? You weren't acting all yinny…oh." Napoleon snapped his fingers. "The coy thing you were doing. The looking and the looking away thing." 

"That's part of it. But you need to be able to read a man. Some men want a lot of yin in their sex partners. Some men don't. It's a balancing act. Men can tell quickly if they will mesh with another man as a sexual partner."

Napoleon kept his voice casual. "And do you think you will mesh?"

Illya shrugged. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

Napoleon wasn’t sure what to do with that answer. He pressed on. "Tell me more. How did you know what this guy would want? What's his name again?" Napoleon was usually pretty good at remembering names. His only excuse for his forgetfulness was that he already sincerely hated the man.

"Roger, Roger Appleton."

"Right. So, how did you know what Appleton would want?" 

"Because I am very good at being whatever a man wants. Just like you are very good at being whatever a woman wants." 

Napoleon was intrigued. The idea that Illya could be whatever a man wanted was…he wasn't sure what it was, but he wanted to see it. "So show me."

"Show you what?"

Napoleon made a vague gesture in the air. "Show me how you'd be what I'd want."

Illya let out an exasperated noise. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't want a man--despite your bisexual confessions."

Napoleon waved that off. "Look, just pretend I'm a heterosexual that you absolutely have to seduce. How would you approach me?"

"I can't believe we're even talking about this."

"Consider it Techniques in Homosexual Seduction 101. Show me."

Illya considered his partner for a moment. He wondered if he could do it; it was an intriguing challenge. He stood. "Go stand on the patio."

Napoleon gave him a look. "Why do you want me to do that?"

"You'll be in the shadows and I won't be able to see your face very well. If I can see your face it will just make me laugh." 

Napoleon pointed at his face. "There is nothing laughable about this."

Illya tried to suppress the laugh but he couldn't. "That is exactly what I mean. You will make some silly expression and it will distract me." He waved his hand. "If you want me to do this, go. And then be quiet for a while."

Napoleon stood, sighing dramatically, and moved to the patio. He leaned against the outer rail, one foot crossed over the other, hands in his pocket. He glanced down at the resort grounds where they and their mark were staying, and then focused on the beach, noticing the lovers walking hand in hand, the cozy bonfires. A pang of yearning passed through him for someone to love. To really love.

He glanced back at Illya, only to find Illya staring at him. It startled him for some reason. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just looking at you. Pay no attention."

That was easier said than done. When Illya paid attention to something, he was intense about it. Napoleon felt a bit like a specimen under glass. He looked back down at the beach.

Illya knew this was stupid. He knew it was dangerous to even flirt with these feelings. They needed to be kept under lock and key where even he couldn't find them. But instead, he was standing there, letting his eyes roam over Napoleon, looking at him as someone desirable, someone to lie next to, under or on top of, imagining how it might feel. All for the sake of a demonstration. Illya hoped he could lock it safely back up. 

Napoleon was certainly easy to look at. He was handsome, and debonair but with a rakish charm that tugged on Illya's heart. Just like that lock of hair that wouldn't stay in place tugged on his heart. Illya sometimes needed to sit on his hands to keep from brushing it back. 

Illya tried to imagine the type of man Napoleon might be attracted to. Tried to imagine what the men his partner had slept with were like. Illya scowled. On second thought, he didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to think about Napoleon being with another man.

Then he realized he was trying too hard. He shook out his body and closed his eyes. He never had to consciously think about being what a man wanted. It had been a mistake to put Napoleon in the shadows; he needed to see him. "Napoleon, come back in the room."

Napoleon pushed off from the railing and obeyed.

Illya put out a hand to stop him as he entered. "Stand there."

Napoleon stopped. If he had thought Illya was staring at him before, he had been greatly mistaken. Now it felt like he was basking in the rays of the sun. He could feel Illya working off of him and he stared, mesmerized, as Illya changed in front of his eyes.

Illya could feel himself adjust to Napoleon. He wasn't sure he could identify everything he was doing, but he shifted his posture a bit, and held his head a little differently. Maybe it was the way he was standing now, or the way his hand lay in his pocket. Maybe it was the way his lips were barely parted, he wasn't sure. But he could suddenly feel the connection.

Napoleon felt it too. Right in his groin. Illya's hair was so blond and looked so soft, his eyes were so blue, and his bottom lip full and just waiting to be nibbled on. And the way he was standing, he looked so…so damn sexy. Napoleon lifted startled eyes to his partner. "Jesus, you are good." It was all he could do not to take a step closer.

And then suddenly he was just Illya. "I should have bet you another ten." He turned. "I am going to take a shower."

Napoleon nodded, and as soon as Illya shut the bathroom door he reached down and adjusted himself. "Jesus." That had been a bit more of an education than he had counted on. It was going to be one hell of a long week.

Illya got the door shut and leaned against the counter. He had wanted Napoleon. Really wanted him. He cupped his erection in his hand; he still wanted him. Illya turned and twisted the faucet, splashing some cold water on his face. It all needed to go back under lock and key. He had to be what Roger wanted him to be tomorrow, and the last thing he needed was to be feeling muddled about his partner. He leaned down and put his elbows on the counter, laying his face in his hands. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." 

* * *

They had breakfast in their room. Now that Appleton would be on the lookout for Illya, they couldn't afford to be seen together.

Illya put his cup of tea down. "I will need to get another room."

"Why?"

Illya gave him a look. "Do I really need to answer that?"

"No, I guess not." Napoleon didn't want Illya to get another room. He liked sharing a room with his partner. And he didn't like the idea of his partner sharing a room with someone else. Whatever magic Illya had done last night to made him seem so desirable hadn't even begun to wear off. 

Napoleon had hoped it would be gone when he woke up this morning, but instead, when he rolled over and opened his eyes and seen his partner sleeping in the next bed, all he'd wanted to do was join him. He suppressed a sigh. "You all set for the big seduction scene?" Napoleon tried to sound enthusiastic.

Illya scowled.

The expression did a lot to cheer Napoleon up. "What's that face for? You seemed awfully gung ho last night. Afraid he won't be searching for you after all?"

Illya twisted his mouth in annoyance. "He will be looking for me. I'm good at this." 

Napoleon knew that for a fact. "Is it the sex? Are you having second thoughts?" Please, he thought to himself, be having second thoughts. I can fish my sleep darts out of my suitcase.

Illya gave a tight shake of his head. "No. The sex is the easy part. It is the rest of it that is hard for me."

Not the answer Napoleon wanted. Then he rested curious eyes on his partner. "The rest of what?"

"Napoleon, this is not just about sex. I could have had him behind the hotel last night if I wanted to."

More information Napoleon didn't want to hear. "Okay, so you're a regular Don Juan. Again I ask, the rest of what?"

"Most people use something significant to them as a password. In order to figure out what it is, I need to establish a relationship with him. I need to have him tell me about his life."

"And…?"

"That means I will need to talk to him, and be…be friendly."

Napoleon couldn't help the snort that escaped. "Friendly? Being friendly is the hard part for you?"

Illya glared at Napoleon. "I am not a friendly person by nature, Napoleon."

Napoleon managed to keep a laugh from sneaking out, and then put heroic efforts into keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. "Really? I never would have guessed that."

Illya was looking morosely at his leftover breakfast. "It is true."

Napoleon decided to try to defend his friend. "I've seen you be friendly to some people."

Illya shook his head. "I am hardly ever friendly, I am polite."

Napoleon thought about it for a minute and decided Illya was right. Illya always seemed to be nice enough, but it was good manners more than anything else. Illya's parents had raised him to be very polite, even if they’d then had the bad manners to get killed in the war and leave their only son to fend for himself. 

Napoleon firmly believed that it was all a sham because every now and then, Illya did something that let Napoleon see the compassionate heart his Russian friend worked very hard at concealing. "You're friendly with me." 

Illya glanced up at him. "I like you."

Those three words made Napoleon ridiculously proud. He grinned at Illya. "You like me?"

Illya looked at Napoleon as if he'd taken leave of his senses. "You know I like you."

"I guess I do. But it's nice to hear you say it. I'll show you what I mean. You ready?" He glanced up to see Illya's eyes riveted on his. "I like you too." When Illya involuntarily smiled, Napoleon grinned again. "See what I mean?"

"Thank you, Napoleon. I know I’m not always an easy person to like."

Napoleon was charmed when Illya actually blushed. He decided to have some mercy on his friend and get back to the topic at hand. "Can I help? I mean with the friendly part? Do you want me to make a list of topics to talk about, or help you practice?"

Illya reached across and picked up the last piece of Napoleon's uneaten toast. "No, but thank you. I am able to do this; it is only a role I must play. It is just not one of the ones I am more comfortable with."

"You'd rather be playing a taciturn German soldier, or a cranky Mexican bandito?"

Illya flicked a good-sized crumb at him. "Yes."

"Then you'd miss out on the sex."

Illya shrugged. "There is always sex to be found when you need it."

For the first time, Napoleon actually thought about Illya's sex life. He had known for as long as they had been partners that Illya was homosexual, even slightly before that, as it had been in his file. But he had never seen Illya on a date, and had never heard Illya, not even once, mention anyone's name as if he were important. Napoleon twisted his lips to one side and then the other as he considered his partner.

Illya frowned. "What are you looking at?"

"You."

The frown deepened. "Why?"

Napoleon didn't answer for a minute. He and Illya were together a lot, but Illya certainly spent a great many nights on his own, and many weekends as well. It was possible that Illya had multiple on-and-off partners, much as he did. It was entirely possible that Illya was in a long-term relationship with someone, and considered it no one's business, including Napoleon. He frowned at that idea.

"Now you are frowning at me."

"Hmm?" Napoleon snapped out of his reverie. "Sorry." He stretched out his legs. "I guess we better get you moved. We'll need some time to set up the sound equipment and to get you wired." Napoleon stood and stretched again, this time letting his whole body get in the act.

Illya tried very hard not to notice. "We need to make sure Art is standing by at UNCLE so he can try the different possible passwords I come up with."

"I'll check in with him." Napoleon pursed his lips. "When will I see you? And what's our story if he sees us together?"

Illya gave it some thought. He knew he shouldn't do it but the words were coming out of his mouth before he could think better of them. "You will be another suitor. That will make him even more ardent in his pursuit of me."

Napoleon was unprepared for the voices and visions that started competing in his head. One voice wanted to start practicing the role right away. That was accompanied by a vision of a late night walk on the beach with Illya, turning to him, running his hands through that blond hair, bringing those lips up to his. One voice told him to cool down and back off. But somehow the picture that went with the warning was still him and Illya on the beach, arms around each other, tongues down one another's throats. 

Another voice wanted to throw a glove down in front of Appleton and challenge him to an immediate duel. Napoleon saw pictures of him and Mr. Quarterback lunging and parrying, rapiers at the ready. The last voice, the voice of the UNCLE agent, was the one that spoke. "He's already seen me. And rejected me. Why would he buy us being together?"

"Because you will be different when you are with me. You will be relaxed, and…and I will do what I did last night, and he will see the reaction in your eyes."

Napoleon had no doubt of that. A nun could have seen the reaction in his eyes, and his groin. This was going to be a very, very long week. He saw himself thrusting the point of his rapier into Appleton's heart. It made him feel much better. He wiggled his eyebrows at Illya. "Maybe he'll want me, then." 

"If he wants you, Napoleon, you can have him. It will be much easier for you to be friendly to him." Illya got up and started packing his suitcase. "You will only need to act this part if he sees us together. If we are careful, it won't be necessary."

Napoleon nodded as if he totally and rationally agreed. Inside his head, he fantasized about not being careful.

Illya didn't like the expression on Napoleon's face; it looked like trouble. "What are you scheming?"

Napoleon put his hand to his chest in an act of complete innocence. "Me?" 

Illya rolled his eyes and then dropped the subject. Whatever mischief Napoleon was up to, he had little hope of controlling it. Illya looked down at his attire, and at the clothes in his suitcase. "I need to buy some clothes."

Napoleon raised his eyebrows. "What? You don't think head-to-toe black is proper resort attire?"

Illya chose not to reply. He checked to make sure he had his wallet. "I will be back in a couple of hours. There were some shops at the other end of the resort. You can take care of things here while I'm gone."

Napoleon frowned. "I'd rather go shopping."

"I'd rather have you go shopping too." 

"I could go shopping with you."

Illya shook his head. "There's too much of a chance that he'll see us together."

As much as he wanted to throw caution to the wind, Napoleon knew Illya was right. They couldn’t afford to do anything that might dampen Appleton's enthusiasm. Napoleon sighed. A very, very, very long week. He gestured for Illya to go, and began to pull equipment out of the duffel.

While Illya was gone, Napoleon got the recording equipment set up and the wire ready to go, and reserved the adjoining suite. Although not thrilled with the idea that he might be lying in bed listening to Illya have sex with Appleton, the connecting door would make it easier for them to speak with each other without fear of being seen.

A couple of hours later, he heard a knock on the door, and moved to open it. Illya came in with a scowl on his face, a couple of shopping bags in one hand, and a garment bag in the other. "I do not know how you can enjoy shopping, Napoleon."

Napoleon took in all the purchases. "Looks like you did all right for yourself. You expecting this to take some time?"

"I can return whatever I don't use, but I needed to be prepared for whatever Roger wants to do."

The idea of that made Napoleon grumpy. "You never bring this much stuff when you and I go on vacation."

"You don't mind if I stick to black."

"How do you know? You never asked."

Illya let loose with an exasperated sigh. "Do you mind?" Then he waved his hand. "Never mind. I can't believe we're even having this conversation. If my wardrobe embarrasses you, you may leave me home next time." He rattled his bags at Napoleon. "I have to go get dressed. Where is my room?"

Napoleon walked across the room and threw open the door to the adjoining suite. "Ta dah."

Illya glanced at his partner. "That will be convenient."

"I thought so." He reached for Illya's garment bag. "Let me take that."

"I am perfectly capable of carrying it myself."

Napoleon gave Illya a smile that wasn't particularly sincere. "Ah, there's the friendly partner I've come to know and love."

Illya handed over the garment bag. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. I don't mean to take my bad mood out on you."

"Quite all right. I know how terrifying salesclerks can be." 

Illya managed to keep his mouth shut. He followed Napoleon into the other room. "Give me a few minutes, and then you can wire me."

"Yes, I suppose it is time to go after your quarry." Napoleon tried to keep from sounding sullen as he handed the garment bag to Illya. He barely managed to not suggest using a sleep dart again. Several other things he could say crossed his mind but all of them would get him in trouble. Napoleon decided to focus on business. "Well, you know where I'll be." He walked back to his room and closed the adjoining door. 

* * *

Napoleon hated Appleton. He hated this assignment, and to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t feeling particularly fond of Illya right now. He knew it was ridiculous but he felt betrayed. Listening to Illya chat and talk about himself made Napoleon wonder if he’d ever even known his partner. 

Illya was telling Appleton stories Napoleon had never heard. Stories about his family, his childhood, stories about the war, and being a war orphan. Stories Napoleon would have paid money to hear, Illya was giving away for free.

It had all started when Illya had walked out of his room. He had clearly decided to get in character with more than just a change of clothes and it was as if a stranger had entered Napoleon's room. Illya had smiled easily, and laughed, and talked about the weather, for God’s sake.

And the outfit he was wearing. Nothing that unusual, a pair of khakis and a blue polo shirt, but the combination of the outfit and the smile on his face was a clear message that he was approachable, a far cry from the arctic ice prince look. It was, Napoleon had to admit, a good look on Illya.

Napoleon didn’t like it. He didn’t want anyone approaching Illya. After this assignment was over he was taking all of Illya’s new clothes and burning them. Or, maybe he’d just have Illya wear them when the two of them went out. No, that wouldn’t work, because people would look at Illya, and want him. Men and women. Napoleon finally decided that Illya could wear the clothes when he was home. That way Napoleon could look, but no one else could.

It didn’t help that thinking all these things made Napoleon feel like an idiot. As if a world existed where if he told Illya what to wear Illya wouldn't first laugh himself sick, and then break both of Napoleon's arms. 

Napoleon had tried to focus just on the mission tasks while Illya--but not Illya--stood before him. The wire was the latest invention of Section Eight, inappropriately still referred to as a wire, as it involved no wires at all. It was a microphone, the size of a half dollar, which Illya planted on the underside of his collar. He’d left the room with a cheery smile and a wave, which had sent shivers up and down Napoleon’s spine.

Everything had gone like clockwork. Appleton had been looking for Illya, just as his partner had said. It had taken him all of fifteen minutes to connect. They'd taken a walk down to the beach, found some secluded cove, and had spent the last three hours talking, and if the sound effects were anything to go by, occasionally kissing. Nothing too frenzied; Illya was playing hard to get, something for which Napoleon could at least be grateful, even if everything else was grating on him.

The feeling wouldn’t go away. The desire that had flamed into existence last night when Illya had done whatever it was he’d done still hung over him, permeating his being with sexual thoughts of his partner. Thoughts which, now that they were unleashed, Napoleon had to admit had crossed his mind on an unsettlingly regular basis over the last year.

It had been those thoughts that had driven him to revisit his college days of experimentation and occasionally include men in his repertoire of sexual dalliances. In gay bars it apparently didn’t matter if he put out the right signals or not. The assumption was that he was there for the same reason they were. 

Napoleon supposed, unconsciously, that he had hoped it might get Illya out of his system. It hadn’t. Obviously. And now his body was primed with fairly recent memories of being with a man, and how much he enjoyed it. But those had been strangers, so the experience had been about nothing but sex. This was Illya. Someone he was closer to than anyone else. 

Napoleon scowled. Up until this afternoon, Napoleon had taken it for granted that Illya liked him more than anyone else. It was just a known, like the sky being blue and the sun rising in the east. Napoleon knew Illya was playing a role with Appleton, but after all his talk of how hard it was to play this particular game, he’d taken to it like a fish to water.

Maybe Illya liked Appleton. Although Napoleon didn’t know how. The man was obsessed with himself. Of course, if Appleton didn’t talk so much, Illya would have told him more secrets, exposed more of himself, made it even more glaringly apparent how much Napoleon didn’t know about his partner and best friend.

Napoleon got up to pace around the room. After a couple of circuits, he realized that the two men had stopped talking. He moved back over to the equipment, sitting down on the bed, making sure it hadn’t malfunctioned. Then he heard the sounds. They were kissing. Really kissing, wet kissing. 

Napoleon’s hands tightened into fists. Appleton’s next words didn’t help. “Petro, come up to my room with me. I want you so bad.” Even the fake name didn’t help.

Neither did Illya’s response. “I want you, too.” More kissing ensued. 

“Come to my room, then. I want to fuck you.”

Napoleon clenched his jaw. The man's crassness bothered him only nominally less than his subject matter.

“No, it’s too soon for me. I barely know you.”

“You know me well enough for a fuck. I know you want it.” There was a pause. “There's nothing shy about this hard cock of yours.”

Someone let out a groan, and Napoleon was afraid it was Illya. More kissing, and then some panting breaths. “I do want you, but you need to give me some time, let me get to know you better.”

“What are you, some kind of fucking cocktease?” Appleton’s voice was not very friendly.

Napoleon stood, debating the wisdom of interfering. Maybe it was time for the competition to show up.

Illya laid on the accent. “I do not know what this cocktease is, but all I ask is for more time. If you are not willing to give me that, then I will say goodbye and you can find someone else to fuck.” Illya’s voice wasn’t friendly either.

Appleton began to backpedal. “No, no, Petro, I’m sorry. It’s just that you make me so goddamned hot. All I can think about is fucking you.”

Napoleon rolled his eyes. He spoke to the room, “How fucking romantic of you.”

Illya was taking too long to answer. Appleton tried again. “C’mon, baby. I’ll give you some time as long as you promise to make it worth my while.” There was a sound of fabric rustling. “Just let me touch you a little.”

More rustling. Napoleon was ready to go bash Appleton’s face in. Apparently the noise had been Illya extricating himself because when Appleton spoke next, his voice was harder to hear, as if from a few feet away. “Hey, where you goin’?”

“I do not appreciate being manhandled.”

“Hey, don’t be like that. If you want to play hard to get, that’s all right with me. Come back here and sit with me." When Illya didn't comply, he tried a different tack. "Then, let's go get some dinner.”

“No, I cannot. I am having dinner with another friend.” 

That was news to Napoleon. He guessed he was the friend.

“I thought you said you were here alone?”

Napoleon grinned. Appleton clearly wasn’t too keen on sharing Illya with anyone. 

“I am. I came by myself, but I ran into an old friend and we made plans for dinner.”

Appleton must have closed the gap between them. “Are you gonna fuck him? Is that why you’re ditching me?”

Napoleon’s cock twitched in response.

“He is just a friend.” 

“If he’s just a friend, then ditch him and have dinner with me. We’ll order room service and then I’ll have you for dessert.”

“Maybe…”

“Maybe what? Anything you want, baby, just say the words.” 

“Maybe I could see you later?” 

Napoleon grimaced. Illya had done that perfectly, put just the right amount of pleading in his voice. There was no way Appleton was going to say no to that.

And indeed he didn’t. “Anytime, anyplace, gorgeous. As long as I get a piece of your sexy ass.” Rustling noises. “In fact, let me get a little feel now.” There was a sound of someone landing with a thump on the ground and Napoleon was heading for the door when Appleton let out a groan. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

Napoleon started to laugh. He should have known better than to think his partner couldn’t take care of himself, even against a guy who had several inches and about sixty pounds on him.

“I have to go.”

“Hey, don’t go away mad. I’m sorry. I’ll be down at the bar later, tell me you’ll meet me there.”

“I do not think it is a good idea.”

Napoleon didn’t think it was a good idea either.

“I can’t help it that you turn me on. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

There was a long pause. Finally, “I make no promises, but I will try.”

“Good. Oh, and tell your friend that if he even thinks about fucking you I’ll rip his balls off. You’re mine, babe. Just remember that.”

Napoleon’s eyes narrowed. He’d like to see the guy try.

“I told you he was just a friend.”

That answer disgruntled Napoleon. He wished Illya had told Appleton to go fuck himself, and that he’d fuck whoever he wanted to, thank you very fucking much, including his just-a-friend.

“Yeah, well, he better be, because I don’t like to share.” Sounds of movement. “If you’re gonna go, then you better go, before I change my fucking mind.”

Napoleon wanted to go down there and change Appleton's fucking mind for him.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you later tonight.”

“I’m counting on it, Petro. I’ll be real disappointed if you don’t show.”

Napoleon heard the covert threat. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He could hear footsteps and assumed they were Illya’s. After a minute Illya spoke, apparently for Napoleon's ears alone. “Insufferable egotist.”

Napoleon grinned, relieved that Illya apparently didn’t like Appleton. It took about fifteen minutes before Napoleon heard Illya enter his room next door. The door between their rooms was ajar a couple of inches. Illya poked his head in. “Napoleon?”

“Present and accounted for.” Napoleon watched as Illya came into the room. He gave his partner a lopsided grin. “Well, he was a real charmer.”

Illya made a face as if he’d sucked on a lemon. He peeled off the microphone and handed it to Napoleon. “I need to take a shower. Perhaps several of them.”

"Well, while you're washing that man right out of your hair, make up your password list."

Illya scowled. "You can probably start it yourself." He started prattling off a list as he turned and headed back for his room. "Fuck, fucker, fucking, cock, asshole, masturbate…" 

The sex terms grew fainter as Illya got farther into his room and, Napoleon assumed, entered the bathroom. He heard the shower turn on. Yup, that Appleton was a pleaser; he'd made quite a hit with his partner. Napoleon let out a short laugh and picked up the phone to order dinner.

The food arrived as Illya finally got out of the shower. As soon as the room service waiter left the room, Illya entered through the adjoining door. Napoleon noticed he was back in black. A part of Napoleon was relieved; this was the Illya he was familiar with and most comfortable, but another part was miffed that he apparently wasn't worth a fashion show. 

Napoleon felt childish for feeling that way and did his best to shake it off. He arranged their dinner, prattling on about nothing in particular.

"What is the matter, Napoleon?"

Napoleon glanced at his partner. "What do you mean?"

"You're upset about something, what is it?"

Napoleon shrugged and told a partial truth. "That Appleton guy just bugs me."

Illya grunted his agreement, and reaching for a pen, started making a list as he tore off a piece of bread to nibble on. Dinner progressed as the list grew longer. Napoleon found himself resenting the silence. 

Finally Illya tossed down the pen. "There, that should get Art started." He began to give his full attention to dinner. 

Napoleon's appetite was falling off. He threw his napkin on the table and picked up the list. Moving to the bed where his jacket was lying, he fished out his communicator. In a minute he was talking to Art and listing the words Illya had written, including the ones Illya had spouted as he'd gone to take his shower.

Art snickered when the list was complete. "When does this guy have time for research? From this list it sounds like he does all his thinking with his dick."

Napoleon couldn't agree more. "Just run the list, Art."

"Will do."

Napoleon recapped his communicator. He sat on the bed and looked at his partner. "So."

Illya looked back. "So." He placed his own napkin on the table. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you now or do I have to try to guess?"

Napoleon's lips tightened for a second. He shook his head as if to intimate he had nothing to say. He kept his voice casual. "You seemed to do okay with the whole being friendly thing today."

Illya grimaced. "The man is lucky I did not have any sleep darts with me."

"I didn't think he was going to take no for an answer."

"Neither did I."

"You gonna be able to handle him tonight?"

Illya's lips quirked up at the corners. "Is that what you're concerned about, Napoleon? My virtue?"

"I just don't want things to get out of control. After all, if you kill him, we'll never get his password."

Illya frowned at his partner, faking injury. "Nice to know you care so much about the mission."

Napoleon grinned. "Just call me Uncle Solo." He hoped that Illya would assume that this was what was bothering him. The last thing Napoleon wanted to confess was that his feelings had been hurt by Illya's openness with Appleton. "When do you plan to accidentally run into him?"

Illya glanced at his watch. "In a couple of hours. I don't want to seem too eager."

Napoleon stood. "Well, I might go have a stroll. I'm feeling a little stir crazy being cooped up in the room all afternoon and I hate to not get a little beach time in while we're here."

Illya stood as well and moved to sit on the second bed, making himself comfortable against the headboard. "I'll wait until you get back before I leave."

Napoleon gave him a wry smile. "Make yourself at home."

Illya looked up at him, surprise in his eyes, hearing more than Napoleon meant to convey. "Do you want me to go back to my room?"

Napoleon locked gazes with him. He slowly shook his head. "No. I don't." Napoleon couldn't seem to pull his eyes away and his blood began to pool in his groin. Before he did something stunningly stupid, Napoleon shrugged into his jacket, made sure he had his key, and left the room.

* * *

Illya had dropped off into a light doze but awoke easily when Napoleon returned. He stretched, glancing at his partner's face. Despite that last look, whatever had been bothering Napoleon before was still bothering him. 

Illya grew a bit flushed thinking about that last look. It had smacked of the same sexual energy that had swept him up last night when, in a matter of seconds, Napoleon had transformed from his partner into an eminently desirable man. Illya had tried to lock the feeling back up, the way he'd kept it locked up for months, but it was too much like a prowling tiger loose from its cage, and it refused to be captured.

Napoleon took his jacket off. "Appleton's downstairs in the bar, checking out everyone who walks in the door with a frown on his face. I'm guessing he's looking for you."

Illya scowled. 

"I'm assuming from your scowl that Art hasn't called back to say that he's found a way in."

Illya shook his head. "He's only half way through the list but so far none of them have worked." He ran a hand through his hair and stood. "I suppose I ought to get dressed."

Napoleon gave him a quick once-over. "Black's not good enough for him?"

Illya could hear the hint of anger in Napoleon's voice. "I'll ask one more time."

"Ask what?"

"What is it that is making you act this way?"

"What way?"

Illya rolled his eyes, both disgusted and distressed. He knew Napoleon was upset with him but he had no idea why and he didn't like it. "Fine, act however you please. I'm getting dressed."

Napoleon acknowledged the comment by silently moving over to the surveillance equipment, running an experienced eye over it, making sure it was ready for its next run.

Illya gave Napoleon another last look as he walked into his own room. He looked in the closet and deliberated what to wear. He thought about Napoleon's comment about his black clothes. It had nothing to do with not being good enough. Rather, it was because he liked his black clothes and he didn't want them tainted. Much better to wear clothes he hated and would never ordinarily wear. 

He almost called for Napoleon to come help him decide but then elected not to. Napoleon was already acting strangely enough about this whole mission. 

Realizing he was staring at the closet, Illya frowned and pulled out an outfit. Donning it, he looked in the mirror and swallowed. The pants were still black, but these were so tight they might have been painted on. It was plain Illya wasn't wearing any underwear, and despite several adjustments, the mound of his genitals was obvious. 

His shirt was a royal blue, less form fitting, but half unbuttoned, inviting further exploration. The color reflected in his eyes, making them a brilliant blue. Illya almost changed, but then he thought about the mission, about its importance, and the need to keep stringing Roger along. Adjusting himself one last time, he walked back into Napoleon's room.

Napoleon glanced up and his eyes opened wide, raking Illya over from his head to his toes, this time his eyes lingering on Illya's groin. "Jesus, Illya, why don't you write the words ‘Fuck Me’ on your forehead."

Illya grew defensive. "If I must act the cocktease, then I must dress like one. I need Roger to think I will be worth the wait." He was appalled with himself for allowing Napoleon to cause him to doubt his strategy, but he found himself blurting out another excuse. "I think that once Roger has his way with me that he will move on. I need to put him off as long as possible."

Napoleon tugged on his lip. "And you think that outfit's gonna make him willing to wait?" His eyes roamed over Illya again. "Did you actually look in a mirror?"

Illya frowned. "Yes, Napoleon, I looked in the mirror. I know what he likes and have dressed accordingly."

"What he likes is sex, Illya. It seems to be all he likes."

"Exactly."

That shut Napoleon up. But only for a minute. "So, what did this salesclerk look like who sold you this outfit?"

Illya shrugged, not sure where this line of questioning was going. "He was just a man."

Napoleon gave a knowing nod. "A man who just happens to be a homosexual?"

Illya scowled. "What possible difference does that make?"

"Because I know who he's going to be dreaming of when he jerks himself off to sleep tonight."

"Napoleon!" Illya could feel the blush scalding his face. He turned away from his partner and found himself looking in the mirror. There was no doubt that the outfit screamed sex. Illya was reasonably certain he looked good, even if his appearance made him acutely uncomfortable. He didn't like to draw attention to himself. In his experience, every time someone noticed him, bad things tended to happen. 

He glanced up in the mirror and saw that Napoleon was still staring at him. Illya followed his gaze and realized that Napoleon was eying his butt. He half turned so he could see his ass in the mirror. The pants were tight. Illya looked at Napoleon again and, for a second, he was sure he saw admiration in his gaze. He hoped it was. It would help him feel less uncomfortable if Napoleon thought he looked good. It would be even nicer if that look had been one of desire. 

Illya suddenly realized the enormous mistake of thinking about Napoleon that way while wearing these pants. There would be absolutely no way he could hide an erection in this outfit. He thought of Roger and that helped. The only way he'd been able to get hard when Roger had been kissing him earlier had been to think of Napoleon, pretending it was Napoleon's hands exploring his body, Napoleon's tongue in his mouth. He liked to think, though, that Napoleon's kisses wouldn't be so rough and sloppy, but rather skillful and arousing.

He was doing it again, and his body reacted accordingly. Illya moved across the room, his back to Napoleon, and looked out the window, blowing out a long breath. He jumped when Napoleon's voice came from close behind him. "Here's the microphone."

Illya held out his hand over his shoulder and Napoleon dropped the small device onto it. Illya pressed it in place and sighed. It was time to start getting into character but he was reluctant to begin the charade.

Napoleon’s comments didn’t help. "I can't imagine he'll be doing a lot of talking with you looking like this."

Illya flashed his eyes up, catching the reflection of Napoleon in the window. "I'll get him to talk."

"Oh, yes, you were a regular Chatty Cathy today, weren't you?"

There it was again, that tone in Napoleon's voice. It didn't make sense. Napoleon was angry with him for talking? "I explained that to you, Napoleon. I had to talk to him to get him to talk to me." Illya wasn't sure why he was still defending himself, and about something so inane.

"Right. Mr.-I-can't-stop-talking-about-myself? The insufferable egotist? He'd keep talking even if there was no one listening."

Illya turned around to face Napoleon. "But not about important concerns, important parts of his life from which he might choose a password."

Napoleon nodded. "Which was why you shared so many stories about your life?"

Illya was relieved that Napoleon understood. "Exactly." Then he frowned when he saw how that answer affected his partner. Napoleon walked to the adjoining door stiffly and began to open it. "You better go."

Illya moved and pushed the door shut. "Not until you talk to me."

"Now you want me to talk to you?" Napoleon's voice grew bitter. "We don't need to talk about important things, Illya. I have no passwords to ferret out."

Illya was lost. He furrowed his brow.

Napoleon waved a hand in the air, dismissing the conversation. "Never mind, Illya. I don't know what the matter is with me tonight. I don't like this guy, I don't trust him, and I just want to get this mission done so we can go home."

Illya almost bought it. Almost. He grabbed Napoleon's arm, and forced him to sit on the end of the bed. "I don't believe you. Despite your words this morning, for some reason you are acting as if you don't like me at all. What did I do wrong?"

Napoleon blurted it out. "You talked to him, Illya. I've known you for years and you've never talked to me like that."

Illya was even more puzzled. "It was a role, Napoleon. It didn't mean anything."

"Nothing except that he seems to be someone you're willing to tell your life secrets to."

Illya figured it out and it hurt. "You like him more than me, don't you?"

Napoleon scrunched his face up in confusion. "What?"

"You like him more than me. I think that is the issue here." 

"Who are you talking about?" 

"Petro. You like him more than me. You wish I were friendly and outgoing, instead of the way I am. I told you I was not an easy person to like, but it is apparently truer than I thought." Illya felt lonelier than he had in years.

Napoleon grabbed Illya's arm. "No, no, wait a minute. I thought you liked him more than me."

"Petro?"

"No, Roger."

Illya was dumbfounded. "Are you insane? I cannot stand the man. How could you think that?"

"Because you told him all those stories about your life, about you, about your childhood. You told him more about yourself today than you've told me in all the time we've been partners. Important stuff, Illya. That was the word you used, important."

Illya felt lightheaded with relief at Napoleon's words. "Oh, Napoleon. None of those stories were true. I made them all up." Illya kept his eye on his partner, watched as the truth sank in, as Napoleon’s face started to redden. He cocked his head to the side. "Did you really think I would tell stories of my life to a stranger, a despicable stranger at that?"

Napoleon ran a hand over his face. "Jesus, Illya. I'm sorry. I've been off since this mission began. I don't know what I was thinking. Of course you wouldn't."

Despite the fact that he would normally be annoyed by Napoleon's accusations, Illya found himself wanting to reassure his partner. "You know more about me than anyone."

Napoleon's lips tightened. "I feel like I don't know anything about you."

"But you do. You may not know all the facts and figures of my life, but you know my likes and dislikes, you know my moods, you know how I'll respond in any given situation, you can practically read my mind. You know me, Napoleon. Me. Who I am now. Who I was in the past doesn't matter."

Napoleon stared at Illya for a long time. Then he gave him a rueful smile. "I guess I do know you, don't I?"

Illya nodded. "Better than anyone ever has." He bit his bottom lip and worried it for a minute. "Does it really bother you that I don't talk about my past?"

Napoleon shrugged. "Sometimes. I don't know why, but sometimes it does. Your life was so different than mine it makes me curious."

Illya dropped his gaze to the floor. "I don't talk about my life because much of it is better forgotten."

"I know, Illya. I've picked up that much from being with you. And my curiosity isn't important enough to make you relive days that were painful for you."

"Maybe not, but you are important to me." Illya's heart started to race as he listened to his own words. They were too close to the truth. He gave Napoleon a small grin, the corners of his mouth turning up. "I will do this for you. I'll let you ask me two questions. One now, and one when the mission is over."

Napoleon's eyes opened wide at the offer, like a kid in a candy store. "Really? Any question I want?"

Illya hoped he wouldn't live to regret this. "Any question." He added cautiously, "I'm not promising long answers."

Napoleon snorted. "If you gave me a long-winded answer I'd insist on fingerprints to prove that it’s really you." He narrowed his eyes. “It just better be the truth.”

Illya stood, suddenly nervous. "What's your question?"

"Don't rush me. I'm thinking." 

And it was clear he was. He paced across the room, knuckles rapping against his lips. 

Illya’s nervousness grew. There were so many things about his life he would rather not discuss. It made him snap crossly, "Napoleon, sometime tonight would be good." 

Napoleon gave him a disgruntled look. "Be quiet.”

Illya started thinking maybe he should leave now before things got ugly. Instead, he sat, forcing his body to relax. He watched as Napoleon took in his outfit again. Illya decided Napoleon was going to ask him something about sex. Illya relaxed a bit more, sure he could handle that. He looked expectantly at his partner.

"Okay." Napoleon squared his shoulders as if working up his own courage. "Okay. Answer me this. When was the last time it was really you in a relationship? A sexual relationship. Not some role, not for the job, just Illya. When was that?"

The question floored Illya. He'd been expecting a question about when he decided he was a homosexual or his first sexual experience, or what excited him about a man. Typical questions. Illya almost laughed. He should have known Napoleon would not ask a typical question. 

An inner debate raged as to how best to answer the question. He glanced up at Napoleon and the debate ended. Napoleon was patiently waiting for Illya to give him an honest answer. Despite his longing to lie to protect himself, he couldn't. But he kept his answer short. "Never."

Napoleon's jaw dropped. "Never?"

"Never."

"But…why?"

Illya wasn't sure what answer Napoleon had been expecting, but clearly this hadn't been it. "That is another question."

"I know. Answer it anyway. Tell me why?"

"Because it gets me what I want."

"Which is?"

"Sex and no entanglements. No expectations beyond the physical."

Napoleon pursed his lips, considering his partner. The close scrutiny made Illya feel cornered. Napoleon's next question made him even more uncomfortable. "No pain?"

Illya gave him a tight nod. "No pain." It was time for a new topic. He'd answered the question; in fact he'd answered several. He pressed his fingers against the microphone, making sure it was still in place. "I need to go." He glanced down at himself. "Should I go change first?"

Napoleon tightened his lips. "No. You have good instincts, Illya. The best. And I'm sorry I made you doubt them. Those clothes will do exactly what they need to do. He'll notice you, he'll want you, and he'll do whatever it takes to get what you're promising." Napoleon touched him lightly on the arm. "Just be careful. I don't trust him, and I wouldn't put it past him to try to take what he wants. I don't think those were idle threats he made earlier."

Illya gave him a mocking grin. "You mean when he threatened to rip your balls off?"

"Ha ha. No, there was something in his voice when he made it clear he expected you to show up and to put out."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. But humor me and be careful. Okay?"

Illya nodded. "Da."

"Good." Napoleon gestured at the equipment. "I'll be here. If you need me, say the word and I'll come down and shoot him for you."

Illya batted his eyes at Napoleon. "My hero."

Napoleon opened the door to the adjoining suite for him. "Feel free to leave any time you want."

Illya let out a soft laugh, entered his room, and shut the door behind him. He checked his appearance in the mirror one more time, while he began to slip into his role; he looked at his body, at the way he stood, equal parts shyness and advertisement. 

The conversation with Napoleon ran through his mind. Never. It had only ever been sex. That's all. It was what he was good at. It echoed his life as a spy. Get in and get out, and keep the body count low. He couldn't imagine trusting anyone enough to give them more than that. A picture of his partner appeared in his mind; the thought followed immediately. Except Napoleon. He trusted Napoleon.

Illya closed his eyes against the sadness that rose in him. Dreams. Hopes. Wishes. Dangerous trappings. Shaking all of it off, he embraced his role and slipped out of his room.

* * *

Napoleon couldn't get Illya's answer out of his head. Never. Never. That was such a definite word. Never. Not once. Illya had never allowed himself to indulge in anything but the physical act of sex. 

A second thought startled Napoleon even more. Had he? When was the last time he, himself, had had sex and not been playing a role? The role of consummate playboy, of UNCLE stud, of being whatever a woman wanted him to be to get her into bed. 

It had been a long time, Napoleon knew that much. A very long time. Maybe the answer for him wasn't never, but it was pretty damn close. Napoleon didn't think he was avoiding the pain of entanglements, but rather the ennui. The return on investment seemed disappointingly low. Or maybe the strength of his investment was low and therefore entitled him only to paltry returns.

There were so many reasons not to get involved in anything past an occasional pleasurable night, or at most a week or two, with a sex partner. The demands of the job, the danger--not only to him, but also to anyone the enemy believed that Napoleon cared about. THRUSH wouldn't hesitate to use that against Napoleon. In fact, they'd done it several times already, using Illya.

That was another startling thought. THRUSH used Illya. They didn't use any of the vast number of regular paramours Napoleon took to his bed. They used Illya. Somehow the enemy had guessed that Illya was the ultimate weapon against Napoleon. And they were right. Napoleon did everything he could to rescue innocents, but he'd give his soul to rescue Illya.

The noise from the microphone increased, and Napoleon pictured Illya entering the bar. The outfit was working. Three women and one man propositioned Illya in less than a minute. 

Then, Appleton made his presence known and his voice made Napoleon's hackles rise. "Petro, there you are." There was a pause. Napoleon could imagine Appleton's eyes all over Illya in that outfit and he clenched his jaw. "Damn, you look good enough to eat, every fucking inch of you."

"I wasn't sure you'd be here." Illya's voice was tentative. 

Napoleon raised his eyebrows. It was not a tone he associated with his partner.

Appleton's voice was thick with need. "Come with me." 

"Where are we going?" A pause. "Oh."

Napoleon heard a door open and close, and then the sound of clothes rustling. "I have to touch you. You are so fucking sexy."

Illya's voice was strained. "Roger, stop, not here. Anyone could walk in."

"Then come to my room. If I can't touch you soon I'm gonna fucking explode."

Illya tried flattery. "I want people to see me with you. Buy me a drink and let's sit for a while."

It didn't work. "There's a mini-bar up in my room." Napoleon could hear the sounds of someone nuzzling Illya's neck, the slurpy sound of a tongue. "I can't wait to peel those pants off of you." More wet noises. "You're not wearing anything underneath, are you?" 

Illya's voice grew stern. "Roger, stop. You promised you'd behave. If you don’t stop I'll leave."

Appleton's voice responded with that hint of unfriendliness. "What the fuck did you come down here dressed like that for if you didn't want to have sex?"

Illya must have decided to try yet another tactic as his voice grew wheedling. "I didn't say I wouldn't have sex." Napoleon listened as the two men kissed, a kiss Illya must have initiated. "All I'm asking for is a drink."

"Jesus, you're killing me, here. I’m as hard as a rock. At least come into a stall with me and suck me off."

Illya's voice was first insulted and then poutily demanding. "I have no intention of sucking you off in a bathroom stall. I'm going back to the bar. If you think you can behave in a more civilized manner, you may join me."

Napoleon heard feet shuffle; he assumed they were Illya's. Then a voice, pitched low but full of menace sounded. "You better not be playing with me, Petro. I don't like being made a fucking fool of."

Napoleon could only imagine how hard it was for Illya not to come back with some witty riposte about Appleton not needing any help to achieve that particular goal. Instead, Illya apparently chose not to answer, but simply left the bathroom. He began muttering under his breath for Napoleon’s benefit, "I must amend my earlier comment. He is an insufferable egotistical fool." 

Napoleon grinned, but he still couldn't shake his uneasiness. This guy was bad news; he knew it. Napoleon was comforted by the thought that he couldn't overpower Illya. Unless he called for some friends. As long as they stayed in the bar and no one joined them, Illya was probably safe enough. 

Appleton seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to rejoin Illya. Napoleon wondered if he'd jerked off in the bathroom first. Illya spoke softly to alert him as to Appleton’s whereabouts. "He's coming back."

As soon as Appleton sat down, the waitress came over. "What'll you boys have?"

Appleton's voice was taunting. "I'll have me a white Russian."

Napoleon could almost hear Illya's eyebrows go up. "There is a drink called a white Russian?"

The waitress answered. "And a black Russian."

"What are the ingredients?" Napoleon grinned as Illya’s curiosity rushed to the fore.

"A white Russian has vodka, kahlua and cream, and a black Russian has vodka, kahlua, and cola."

"I will have one of these white Russians as well."

"You got it. Two white Russians coming right up."

There was a short pause and then Appleton's voice, taunting. "There's gonna be at least one white Russian coming, that's for fucking sure."

"Roger." Illya's voice was disapproving.

"Yes siree. I'm gonna be drinking one white Russian here in this bar, and then I'll be drinking from another up in my room."

Napoleon frowned. The guy was like a goddamn freight train. And the image of Appleton following through on his threat was unpalatable at best. If anyone was going to be drinking from that particular blond haired, blue-eyed white Russian it was not going to be Appleton.

So, who, a voice teased him, was it going to be? Napoleon had an instant answer for that. It was more like a vision, though. A vision of Napoleon shoving Illya against a wall, peeling off those tight pants, just low enough to reveal his cock, and Napoleon taking him in his mouth. The vision filled him with a longing to know what the Russian tasted like. To see a look of passion on his stoic's partner's face as he worshiped the slender body while Illya groaned out his release.

Napoleon rubbed his crotch as his cock started to grow heavy with arousal. He dropped his hand and forced himself to focus on the conversation between Illya and Appleton, refusing to lose himself irresponsibly to the needs of his body. 

Appleton seemed to have settled down. They were talking about their college days. Now that Napoleon knew Illya was lying, he found himself amused and impressed by his partner's prevarication skills. He jumped when he heard a crash and a yelp, his ebbing erection vanishing completely in his concern for Illya.

It was apparently a spilled drink. "Shit, I'm sorry, Petro. I got a little carried away with my hands there." There was a pause. "Need any help drying yourself off?" The voice was leering.

"No, thank you. I am perfectly capable of cleaning myself up."

"Well, at least let me go get you another drink."

"I'm sure the waitress will bring me another one."

"I know, but I feel bad about it. I'll just get one at the bar."

"While you do that, I will go to the men's room and try to repair the damage."

Appleton's voice was whispery soft, and he must have been talking in Illya's ear to have it come across so clearly. "We could move this upstairs and then you could take those wet things off. Or better yet, I could take them off for you."

"I want my drink first." The voice was firm.

"I hope you plan to drink fast. I didn't think you could look any sexier, but with you all wet, all I want to do is put my fucking face in your crotch." There was a husky laugh. "That way I'd get both white Russians at the same time."

"Please just order me my drink, I will be right back." Illya was trying to stay in character, but Napoleon knew him well enough to hear dangerous frustration in his voice. Illya spoke softly for Napoleon's benefit after a few seconds of silence. "Insufferable egotistical clumsy fool."

Napoleon chuffed out a laugh, trying not to imagine Illya in those tight pants, his genitals highlighted even more by the stain of alcohol. Then he frowned. Napoleon could hear in his voice that Appleton was determined to be successful whether Illya was a willing participant or not. Maybe he should run interference before Illya stabbed the idiot with a dull knife. Not that Napoleon would do any grieving. The man deserved to be stabbed with a dull knife. The duller the better. 

He was looking forward to hearing what techniques Illya would use to stay out of Appleton's clutches. Maybe a bone crunching blow to the nose? A punishing punch to the gut? Napoleon let out a hum. A man could dream, couldn’t he?

Napoleon lay back, sprawling on the bed. He'd give it a little more time, see if Illya was able to get the walking dick to start talking again. He smiled as Illya continued to mutter as he cleaned himself off, only stopping when someone else entered the bathroom. Napoleon tensed but then relaxed when he realized it must not be Appleton as Illya did not acknowledge him.

Napoleon listened as Illya made his way back to the table. Appleton was waiting. "There you are. I was about to come and see if I could help. Here's your drink, made special just for you."

"Thank you." 

"Now drink up."

"I want you to finish your story."

"I'll finish it as soon as you start drinking."

Napoleon rolled his eyes heavenward, seeking strength. No doubt Appleton thought that Illya would fall into his arms if he could only get him drunk enough. 

Napoleon smiled in derision. The guy was in for a rude awakening. Napoleon was certain that Illya had no intention of sleeping with him. He scowled. At least he was fairly certain that Illya wouldn't. Maybe Illya would decide he needed to sleep with him. Maybe Napoleon would end up lying on his bed, listening to Appleton fuck his partner. Napoleon spent a moment imagining Appleton with a dull knife protruding from his abdomen. Gut wounds always hurt like hell.

"All right, I am drinking, now finish your story."

Appleton launched into another long football story. God, he hated this guy. Napoleon got up to pace around the room, making sure the incomprehensively boring stories coming out of Appleton's mouth would put him to sleep if he stayed still for more than five minutes.

An interminable time later, there was another yelp. Napoleon glanced at the equipment. Illya's voice was a tight whisper. "What are you doing?"

"Do you like that, hmm?"

"Move your foot or I'll…I'll…" Illya's voice sort of trailed off.

There was a short laugh. "You do like it. I can tell."

Napoleon felt a surge of jealousy, imagining Appleton playing footsie with Illya's cock, and Illya getting hard in response.

Illya's voice sounded less than convincing. "You…you have to stop. Someone…someone will see you." Napoleon scowled. It wasn't so much that Illya didn't sound convincing, it was more that Illya didn't sound like himself.

His communicator went off, startling him. He couldn't believe how jumpy he was. "Solo, here."

"Hey Napoleon, it's Art. I wanted to let you know that we're in and we're helping ourselves to his data as we speak."

"You don't know how glad I am to hear that. What was the password?"

"I played a hunch. You ready for this one? Goodfuck."

Napoleon snorted. Somehow he wasn't the least bit surprised. He focused back on the monitored conversation as Appleton continued to do his best to seduce his partner. "I say it's time we moved this upstairs to my room, don't you?"

"No. No. I don't…" Illya's voice was slurred.

Napoleon spoke into the communicator, his tension rising. "I have to go. Good work, Art."

"Sure thing, Napoleon."

It was Illya again. "What did you…what did you…?" He was tripping over his words, unable to complete a sentence.

Napoleon yanked on his jacket.

"Nothin' you need to worry about. Just a little something to keep you from bein' such a tight ass." There was a laugh. "Or to make you give that sexy tight ass to me." He must have leaned over the table toward Illya because his voice was jarringly loud. "I don't like to take no…" 

Napoleon was out the door and heading for the stairwell before Appleton finished his sentence. As he ran down the stairs he berated himself for not thinking of this possibility. The man had invented a veridical. It took no stretch of the imagination to assume the man had other drugs at his disposal. 

The staircase deposited him at the far end of the lobby, close to the bar. He entered just in time to see Appleton haul Illya up. Illya's head was lolling. 

Napoleon kept moving and bumped into them. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I guess I was woolgathering and didn't see you." 

Appleton firmed up his grip on Illya. "Why don't you try opening your fucking eyes?"

Napoleon gave him a look of surprise. Then he pretended to finally get a good look at Illya. "Petro?"

Appleton looked at him suspiciously. "You know him?"

"Sure, he's a good friend of mine. We had dinner together tonight. What's the matter with him?"

The suspicion flared to anger. "None of your goddamned business."

"He looks like he should see a doctor."

Napoleon watched as Appleton backpedaled, trying to placate, not wanting anyone to interfere with his fun. "He just had a little too much to drink. He never could handle his liquor. I'm taking him back to his room."

"He doesn't look drunk. He looks sick. I know they have a doctor here; I think we should give him a call."

"I told you, buddy, this is none of your fucking business." Any attempts to placate were gone with the wind.

Napoleon's anger grew in response. "Well, I think I'm making it my business. I happen to know that Petro never gets this drunk. He can drink me and probably everyone in this room under the table."

Appleton turned and dropped Illya back into the booth. Napoleon noticed that Illya was just conscious enough to keep himself from falling from the booth seat to the floor. Appleton got into Napoleon's personal space and assumed a threatening stance. "Listen. I'm done being nice. If you know what's good for you, you'll just turn around and leave."

Napoleon pursed his lips. Then he opened his jacket and let Appleton see his gun. "Actually, I'm thinking that if you know what's good for you you'll be the one to turn around and leave."

"What are you? Some kind of cop?"

Napoleon nodded. "Yeah, I'm some kind of cop."

"Napoleon?" 

Napoleon risked a quick look. Illya was managing to sit, his hands holding on to the table for dear life. Napoleon brought his attention back to Appleton, even as he spoke to his partner.

"Yes, it's me. You all right?"

"No, I don't feel so good."

Appleton was willing to try one more time. He turned to Illya. "Hey, Petro, tell this busybody that we're together, so he'll go away and stop bothering us, okay?"

Illya squinted up at him through drug-hazed eyes. Then he looked at Napoleon. "Don't leave."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Napoleon gave Appleton a mocking smile. "It would appear that your plans are off for the evening."

Appleton fisted his hands. Napoleon found himself hoping that he'd take a swing. He'd like nothing more than to pound his fist into Appleton's face, maybe break that perfect nose. Appleton sneered at him. "You just want to fuck him, don't you?"

Napoleon moved until he stood between Appleton and Illya. "Well, I certainly plan to get him into bed." 

"I knew it. You probably fucked him before he came to see me tonight. He's like some fucking whore." He took a step closer. "Let's both do him. He won't care."

Napoleon's eyes darkened with fury. "I think it's time for you to go, Mr…?"

"None of your fucking business. You better hope you don't run into me when you're alone and without that gun."

Napoleon grinned coldly at that. "Imagine my terror."

"Fucking asshole." Appleton gave Illya one more frustrated look and then turned and left the bar.

Napoleon waited until he was gone before he turned to his friend. "You able to walk?"

Illya shook his head, and then dropped it to the table. Napoleon sat down, scooting Illya in with a couple of gentle shoves. "Do you have any idea what he gave you?"

Without lifting his head, Illya shook it again. 

"Do you want to sit here in hopes it wears off, should I take you to the hospital, or do you want me to manhandle you upstairs?"

Illya's eyes flickered up. "Upstairs."

Napoleon rolled his eyes. Stupid question. Like Illya would ever willingly seek medical assistance. "Okay. If anyone asks what's wrong with you, we'll say you're drunk."

"Tak."

"Maybe you should try to sing."

"Shto?"

"Sing. If you sing, you'll look like a happy drunk, and people will think it's funny."

Illya blinked. Napoleon decided to take that as consent. He stood and inched Illya to the edge of the seat. Placing his arm around Illya's shoulders, he pulled him up. Reaching down for Illya's hand, he maneuvered it over his own shoulder, sliding his hand down to hold onto Illya's waist. "You ready?"

Illya tried to nod, but his head mostly just dropped. 

"Time to sing, then, partner."

Illya tried, but all that came out was a hum. Napoleon heard an occasional word, but they were Russian and he couldn't identify the song. Whatever it was, he found the melody surprisingly soothing.

Without making it too obvious, he half dragged his partner across the lobby to the elevator. A man and a woman dashed in at the last moment, eliminating Napoleon's hope that they'd make the ascent without company.

He gave them both a charming smile. "He had a little too much to drink." They both gave him a nervous smile as they did their best to ignore the man he was holding onto.

Illya tried to sing again. More of the words came through this time. It sounded like a lullaby. For some reason, Illya singing a lullaby caused a lump in Napoleon's throat. His hold on his partner tightened a little.

The couple got off on their floor and left Napoleon and Illya alone. Napoleon spoke softly to him. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Hmm?"

"That song. Who taught it to you?"

"Moi mat'."

"Your mother taught you that?"

Illya nodded, and it caused him to nestle even more closely into Napoleon's shoulder. "Before."

"Before what?"

"Before…she died. She…she used to sing it." Illya's voice was thick with the drug, the words not coming easily.

The elevator doors opened on their floor. Napoleon got Illya out the door but then the Russian's legs gave out. Napoleon lifted him over his shoulder, and held him in place with a hand across his thighs as he strode for his room. 

Napoleon got the room door open, flipped on the light, and even though he tried his best to be gentle, Illya still fell heavily when he put him on the bed.” Illya let out a gasp and his eyes opened wide in a panic.

Napoleon spoke immediately. "It's me, Illya."

Illya let out a second gasp but this one was one of relief. For a moment he'd been afraid that it had been Roger tossing him on the bed. He remembered being in the elevator with Napoleon, but couldn't recall the trip from the elevator to the room. He must have lost consciousness for a minute. He tried to speak. His brain put together a whole sentence but only a word came out, "…sorry…"

Napoleon sat down next to him. "Sorry for what?"

Illya tried again, but only succeeded in getting another solitary word out. "…mission…"

Napoleon grinned. "Mission successful, partner. Art got in. I would have been down shortly to rescue you from your charming suitor even if he hadn't spiked your drink."

Illya thought he was nodding, but he wasn't sure. His body didn't seem to be obeying any of his commands. "…thank…"

"No problem. I just wish I could have killed him. That would have really made my day."

Illya agreed. It would have made his day, too. "…later…"

"Kill him later? Good idea. I'll think up something suitably appropriate."

"…THRUSH…"

Napoleon's eyes sparkled. "I can only hope. If we're very lucky THRUSH will kidnap him and torture the crap out of him. I can't wait to see what they do to him when they find out his password is goodfuck." Napoleon started to laugh but it faded away as he eyed his weakened partner.

Illya tried to grin, but it was a paltry effort at best.

Napoleon reached for Illya's face with his hands and held the corners of his lips up, helping him smile. "Is that what you're trying to do, my little white Russian?" Illya tried to bat Napoleon's hands away, but didn't get far. Napoleon let go of his face, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, moy droog, I should have realized he might do something like this." He shook his head, as if disgusted with himself. 

"…not…trust…" Illya was getting tired of his inability to communicate. He was grateful that Napoleon could almost read his mind.

"I know, I know I said the man couldn't be trusted, but a fat lot of good that advice would have done you if I hadn't gotten downstairs fast enough."

Illya moved his hand enough to touch Napoleon's leg. Whatever drug he'd been given made it feel like he was moving through quicksand and Illya knew that Napoleon was the only person in the world that he could be this helpless around and still feel safe. 

Napoleon looked down and saw Illya's hand. He grabbed it with one of his own and held it tightly. "Are you all right? Do you feel all right, other than the obvious?"

Illya nodded, the movement enough to satisfy Napoleon. Then he realized he wasn't all right and tried to shake his head.

"Was that a no? And to which question?"

Illya tried to trace the conversation back and got lost. He managed a shrug, hoping that would suffice.

Napoleon frowned at him. "Damn. I think I should take you to the hospital."

That got a reaction. Illya's brows furrowed, little lines creasing his forehead.

Napoleon knew what that meant. "Don't like that idea, do you?"

A small head shake, and then Illya closed his eyes, as if exhausted. Then the crease lines appeared again.

"What? What's that frown for? I didn't say a word."

"…pants…" Illya choked the word out. He desperately needed to get his pants off. They were so tight they were cutting off his circulation, and on top of that, they were wet and cold.

Napoleon glanced at Illya's pants. "You want me to take your pants off?" 

Illya's heart rate picked up at the innocently asked, but sexually laden question. In answer he moved his hand to the button on his pants, and tried to open it. His fingers wouldn't do what he wanted and he made a sound of frustration deep in his throat.

Napoleon batted his hand away. "I got it. I got it. This I can do." He helped straighten Illya out on the bed and reached for the button on his pants. He went to work, trying to peel the wet leather pants off his partner, his warm hands coming into regular contact with Illya's ass and his genitals as the wet pants were inched off. 

Illya closed his eyes. His partner's hands felt so good, his fingers warm against his cold and probably shriveled penis, after being bathed in alcohol for the last half hour. 

Illya found himself wishing that Napoleon would lay his hand on his penis, or wrap his fingers around the shaft to warm him up, maybe even lean down and take him in his mouth. Illya could feel himself start to respond both to the touches and to his thoughts.

Illya didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed. As his mind succumbed more and more to the effects of the drug, all he knew was that he was with Napoleon. He could trust Napoleon. If his friend was here, he was safe. As he drifted through the haze, enjoying the sense of security, feeling the warm hands touch him, the beloved voice speak softly to him, he smiled. "Napoleon. Hmmm." He couldn't remember feeling this, this…"Hmmm." Content. Warm. Cared for. 

Napoleon swallowed against a surge of desire. Bad enough that he was touching Illya--however inadvertently. But now Illya was getting hard, he was smiling, and calling his name. And he was letting out these noises that seemed to be directly connected to Napoleon's cock. He wished he could read Illya's mind. Why was he getting hard? Was it the drug, was it nothing more than the automatic response to stimuli, or was it because of him? Napoleon desperately hoped it was because of him. 

Not that he could do anything about it when Illya was this out of it. There were rules about this sort of thing, rules Napoleon believed in. Focusing back on the matter at hand, literally and figuratively, Napoleon continued to struggle with the pants. The pants were tight. Really tight. He wasn't even sure how Illya had gotten into them. 

Despite the burgeoning erection, Illya's penis was still cold from the alcohol. Napoleon wanted to warm him up. To take him in his hands, or even better, in his mouth and breathe the warmth back into him. 

Napoleon tried to think of other things. Nasty things. THRUSH things. Appleton. That helped, the anger helping him push back his desire. He forced his eyes away from the alluring sight of his partner spread out on the bed, and his now erect cock. Hoping his partner wasn’t feeling uncomfortable, Napoleon glanced up at Illya’s face.

Napoleon was caught by blue eyes. He was relieved that there was nothing negative there, no fear, or anger. In fact, Napoleon didn't think he'd ever seen this expression in his partner's eyes before. He looked like a cat with a bowl full of cream; a cat basking in the warmth of the perfect sunbeam. Illya smiled again and even though his voice was thick and slurring, there was no mistaking the word he said. "Napoleon." Another smile. Another hum. 

Napoleon couldn't take his eyes off Illya. He looked like an invitation to sin. Mentally and forcibly reminding himself that there really were rules about this sort of thing, Napoleon lowered his gaze and continued to work on the pants. Illya's ass, in comparison to his genitals, was warm and silky to the touch. It made Napoleon want to climb in bed with Illya and press up behind him, letting that warm ass heat his cock.

Illya's cock was even harder now and Napoleon's was equally hard. He had the pants down to his partner's hips and he began inching them down the muscular thighs. God, those thighs. So strong. Napoleon imagined them wrapped around him as he lay on top of Illya. He caught a groan before it left his lips. 

There, finally, they were loose enough. Napoleon took off Illya's shoes and socks, and then pulled the pants off. Well, he'd gotten half of his wish, his lustful wish to pry Illya out of his pants and give him a blow job he’d never forget. Napoleon sighed, thinking that the best part got left out.

Napoleon pulled at the bedspread until he covered Illya's lower body with it. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's finish the job, hmm?" Illya continued to stare at him with his brilliant blue eyes, lids at half mast. He stretched, causing the bedspread to slip back, giving Napoleon another look at what he couldn't have. He blew out a quick breath, covering his friend again. 

When Illya closed his eyes, Napoleon was relieved. That come-hither look in those blue eyes was eroding his good intentions. He started working on Illya’s shirt. When he had the buttons undone, Napoleon reached behind Illya and pulled him up, holding him against his chest as he wrestled his shirt off. Napoleon made it take longer than it needed to, just so he could hold Illya. Napoleon decided he was just this shy of pathetic.

Finally he had the shirt off and couldn’t really justify holding his partner anymore, so he laid Illya down carefully. Rolling him to the side and then back, he worked all the covers down from beneath his body and then covered him. "Better?"

Illya smiled, even as his eyes grew even droopier.

Napoleon smiled back at him. He thought of Appleton and anger swept through him. The idea of Illya, this sedated, this…pliable, while Appleton pawed him, raped him, made him want to find the man and castrate him. He saw Illya's eyes react to the anger in his own. Napoleon shook his head. "Sorry, pal. That look wasn't for you. I was just thinking of your drinking buddy."

Illya nodded, his lips trying to scowl, only to fall back into a smile as his eyes sleepily tracked Napoleon. 

Napoleon couldn't help but smile back at him again. "Will you be able to sleep?"

A sleepy hum.

"You sure? I mean, you feel okay? The drug's not making you feel sick?"

That question got a grunt, which Napoleon took for a no.

Temporarily reassured, Napoleon kicked off his shoes, took off his jacket and holster, and lay his gun on the bedside table within easy reach. He went into the bathroom and stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt, quickly washing up and brushing his teeth.

"Napoleon?"

Napoleon raced into the bedroom and saw Illya trying to sit up, a look of confusion on his face. "Hey, I’m right here. You need to get up? Use the bathroom?"

The flash of relief that crossed Illya's face was heartwarming to Napoleon. It wasn't often that his taciturn partner allowed himself to be so vulnerable and Napoleon had to admit it felt nice to be needed.

Illya flopped back down. "No." His eyes closed and Napoleon was sure he would drift off to sleep. But a few seconds later, they opened again and his head turned. "'Poleon?"

"Yeah?"

"Don’ go 'way." The voice was sleepy and barely making sense.

Napoleon moved to Illya's side and sat down on the edge of the bed, giving in to the urge to brush Illya's bangs out of his eyes. "I won't. I'll be right here. And I won't let anyone else near you. I promise."

"'kay."

"I'm just going to finish up in the bathroom and then I'll be back."

Barely a nod, as Illya fought valiantly to keep his eyes open.

A surge of tenderness warmed Napoleon through and through, and all he wanted to do was stay and bask in the glow of Illya. Illya wanting and needing him near was pulling on all his heartstrings. He forced himself to finish his ablutions. When he came back out, it looked like Illya was fast asleep. 

Napoleon sat on the edge of his own bed and watched his partner sleep. If Illya wasn't naked under there, Napoleon might have chosen to sleep with him, just so he could be near in case Illya woke up. But all that naked skin was too much of a temptation. 

It wasn’t just the skin that was a temptation. Illya would probably tell him anything right now, assuming he could stay awake long enough to speak. Napoleon bet that Illya would answer any questions he was asked. Napoleon had a few. Can I touch you? Do you want me? Just what did that contented hum mean? Are you tired of being lonely, like I am? 

He lay back on his bed, bunching his pillow under his head, laying on his side so he could continue to watch his Illya. He wondered what drug Appleton had given his partner and when it would wear off. Wondered if there'd be any unpleasant side effects. He sincerely hoped not. 

Illya's eyes opened once more, nervous, until he saw Napoleon directly across from him. Letting out another quiet hmm, Illya closed his eyes again. Napoleon watched his partner until his own eyes grew heavy and sleep pulled him under.

* * *

Napoleon woke up to the sound of someone retching. After a quick glance at his watch, noting that it was still the middle of the night, he was out of the bed in a shot and at the bathroom door only to find Illya, naked, on his knees puking in the toilet, looking like something the cat dragged in. Knowing Illya would not appreciate him finding any humor in the situation, Napoleon kept any semblance of a grin off his face. He also tried very hard not to admire Illya's ass.

He calmly retrieved two washcloths, wet both and crouched down, handing one to Illya. He held on to the other for the moment.

Illya wiped his face and flushed the toilet. Closing the lid, he sagged, laying his arms on the toilet lid, his head resting on his arms. He let out a loud groan.

Napoleon laid his washcloth on the back of Illya's neck. "How ya' doin' there, partner?"

Another groan. Finally Illya lifted his head. Napoleon rescued his washcloth before it fell to the floor. "If he's planning on taking this drug to market, I wouldn't buy any of the stock."

"Thanks for the investment tip. Are you going to live?" Napoleon was so glad to see him up and moving around that it was hard to feel suitably miserable on Illya's behalf.

Illya lay his head back down, resting on one cheek, facing Napoleon. "Unfortunately." 

Napoleon wiped off his forehead. He had vague memories of his mom doing that for him when he was sick, and it had felt good. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Shoot me."

"Can't. I mean, granted, linoleum's easy to clean up but there's nowhere to stash the body."

Illya scowled. "Well, far be it from me to inconvenience you." He sat up suddenly and lifted the lid. "Leave me alone, Napoleon. I'd just as soon turn myself inside-out in private."

Napoleon could understand that. He rose. "I'm only a shout away."

Illya nodded, his forehead resting on the edge of the toilet seat. He waved a limp hand at Napoleon to shoo him away.

Napoleon took the hint. He moved back into the bedroom and stood by the bed, wincing as Illya started retching again. It really did sound like he was turning himself inside out. More demerits for Appleton. His side of the ledger sheet was looking pretty damn inky. Napoleon enjoyed a vision of flushing the toilet while holding Appleton's head in it.

He got back in the bed but didn't even bother lying down. There was no way he was going to sleep with that going on in the bathroom. And despite how momentarily amusing it had been to see his Russian partner so thoroughly disheveled, he was feeling far from amused now. While dreams of drowning Appleton danced in his head, Napoleon hoped that his partner would survive this next stage of the drug none the worse for wear.

He winced again as Illya let out another groan. After a while he got up and looked out the window. There were two bonfires still burning on the beach offering heat and romantic lighting to lovers spending the night listening to the waves and getting sand in places sand was never meant to be. Not that it wasn't fun getting it there. Napoleon spent a few minutes imagining him and Illya down there, lying on a blanket under a fountain of stars, listening to the crackling of the fire, the waves washing on the shore, as Illya cried out his passion into the night.

Napoleon snapped out of his fantasy and found himself rubbing his hardened cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. Preparing to be extremely embarrassed, he glanced in the direction of the bathroom fully expecting Illya to be standing there, watching him touch himself. Napoleon was very relieved to see that he was alone. Then he noticed how quiet it had become; no sounds of any kind were coming from behind the closed door.

Alarmed, his erection forgotten, he ran across the room and opened the bathroom door. Illya was lying on the floor. His heart in his throat, he crouched down to feel for a pulse. When he found it easily, Napoleon bowed his head in breathless gratitude.

Illya stirred. "Hmm?"

"What happened? Did you fall?" Napoleon hoped he hadn't missed the sounds while lost in his erotic vision.

Illya tried to sit up, shaking his head. "No, I think I fell asleep."

Napoleon assisted him. "Are you done with this part of the stage show? Ready to get back to bed?"

Illya nodded. "I'm just tired." He put out his hand for balance as he tried to stand.

Napoleon held on to him. This he was used to--getting an injured partner back and forth from the bed to the bathroom. Granted, said partner wasn't usually naked as a jaybird, but Napoleon wasn't going to complain. He also kept his hands right where they were supposed to be even if he did sneak a peek at that gorgeous ass again. "Want some pajamas on?"

Napoleon interpreted the grunt he got in response to his question as a yes. He sat Illya on the side of the bed and, after making sure he wasn't going to pitch forward, he moved to rummage through Illya's bag, pulling out the bottoms to a pair of pajamas. Napoleon knelt at Illya's feet. "Come on." He tapped Illya's right leg. "This leg first."

Illya tried, Napoleon had to give him that. But he clearly wasn't very coordinated yet. He got his foot off the floor just enough for Napoleon to work the pants leg on. Napoleon just lifted the other, deciding it was the path of least resistance. "Butt up."

Illya flopped back on the bed, and managed to lift his butt up enough that Napoleon, moving quickly, got the pants up and over Illya's ass. It felt just as silky this time as it did last time. "Okay, sleeping beauty. Under the covers."

Illya let out a disgruntled moan. His patience for obeying orders had, apparently, come to an end. Napoleon decided he was fine where he was. He pulled both ends of the comforter and wrapped Illya up like a big burrito. Illya opened his eyes and smiled at Napoleon. A soft smile, open and unguarded and Napoleon felt it zing right to his heart. "Sweet dreams," he sing-songed, trying not to get too schmaltzy. His reward was another happy hum. Grinning, Napoleon went back to his own bed, and joined his partner in sleep.

* * *

It was bright outside when Napoleon next woke and looked at his watch. His eyes opened wide when he saw they had slept most of the morning away. He glanced at the other bed and saw that Illya was still out like a light. 

Sitting up, Napoleon stretched. Time to get moving. He needed to check on Appleton, make sure that he moved on. While he was in the shower he entertained fantasies of how to best kill the man. Hopefully, Appleton would attack him and give Napoleon an excuse to shoot him. Of course, Waverly wouldn't approve, and he'd probably force Napoleon to fill out forms in triplicate for the next month. Napoleon wasn't sure killing Appleton was worth it. Maybe he could just seriously maim him. There didn't seem to be as much paperwork for maiming. 

Turning off the shower, Napoleon shook his head, water droplets flying. Then he reached for a towel and dried himself off. He reentered the bedroom quietly but Illya was still deeply asleep. He'd moved enough to disrupt the comforter, and he was lying there on his stomach, the thin fabric of his pajamas conforming nicely to his ass. 

A couple of fantasies about that ass kindled a rapacious desire that got Napoleon hard so fast it made him lightheaded. Oh, yeah, time to get out of the room. Napoleon got dressed quickly, shut both adjoining doors, and locked his side. He slid Illya's gun under his pillow, where he knew the Russian would instinctively reach for it and, placing the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob, he quietly shut the door. Then, he went hunting for Appleton.

Appleton found him, much to Napoleon's chagrin. After checking the lobby, the bar, the restaurants, and the gift shops, Napoleon made his way down to the beach. A meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder as Napoleon stole a moment to watch the waves. "Where the fuck is he?" 

Napoleon spun, dropping his shoulder, escaping the grip. He gave Appleton one of his best please-push-me smiles. "Ah, just the man I was looking for."

"What the fuck are you looking for me for? And where is Petro?"

"I wanted to give you a little advice."

"I don't need any fucking advice from you. In fact, here's some for you. Leave Petro the fuck alone. He's mine."

"Au contraire, my erudite friend."

"What's that supposed to mean? Did you fuck him? Is that where he's been? Getting fucked by you all night long?" Appleton's eyes were blazing with a jealous rage.

Napoleon could feel his own ire building. He poked Appleton in the chest. "You may not want my advice, but I suggest you take it. Leave him alone or you'll answer to me."

Appleton let out a scoffing noise. "You're not so tough." There was a pause. "What was your name again?" He looked at the sand for a second, thinking. "Something with an 'N', Nathaniel, right?"

Napoleon nodded, amazed anew at the man's lack of mental acuity when he was supposedly a genius in the lab. He decided Appleton's success had to be some quirky fluke. It was just a matter of luck that they guy had managed to mix together the right set of chemicals. "That's right."

"Well, buddy, I'll bet you're the only Nathaniel registered at this resort. It was easy enough to get into the office to find out where Petro's room was and I can do it again to find yours. In fact, I'll bet that's where Petro is right now, because he sure as fuck isn't in his room. All I have to do is wait until you're sleeping and then you'll be sorry you messed with me."

Napoleon kept his voice light, belying the anger he felt. "Do you always give your plan away like that? It sort of takes away the element of surprise."

Appleton's fist headed for his stomach but Napoleon blocked it easily, letting go with a one-two combination that knocked Appleton to his ass. Napoleon stood there, hands close to his body, still fisted, ready to go another round, eager for it. "Get up. Get up, you bastard."

Appleton crawled backwards a foot or two. "Stay the fuck away from me."

"Or what?" Napoleon gave him a feral grin. "You'll call a cop?"

Appleton staggered to his feet, the back of one hand wiping off his lips. He glanced down at the blood on his fingers and held his hand up to ward Napoleon off. "You're fucking crazy." He took another step back. "You are fucking crazy."

Napoleon took a step toward him. "We're just getting started. Come on." He didn't want to stop until Appleton was a bleeding pile of hurt on the ground.

Appleton backed up some more. "I’m warning you. Stay the fuck away from me."

Napoleon could hear some people approaching. He dropped his hands and raked Appleton with an angry glare. "And I'm warning you. Don't let me see you again or I'll find a legal excuse to shoot you."

Appleton saw the people, a family--husband and wife, and several children--and he took full advantage of it, moving behind them, following them back to the hotel, entering through a side door. Napoleon followed at a distance, reluctant to let go of his anger, wishing he could prolong the altercation.

Appleton walked into the main lobby and then continued out the front door, pulling keys out of his pocket. Napoleon doubted that he was simply going to get in his car and leave. That would be far too easy. He suspected, instead, that he was going to get something unpleasant from his car with which to extract some revenge.

Napoleon found his fingers caressing the butt of his gun. 

Appleton arrived at his car, one hand rubbing his jaw, one hand fingering for the right key. Napoleon stayed a discreet distance away yet close enough to clearly see whatever it was Appleton retrieved from his car. 

The men were on Appleton and shoving him into a dark sedan before Napoleon could even think to shout out a warning. He reached for his gun, his instincts to protect the world from THRUSH strong enough to initially overcome his hatred of the man. He got over it quickly, letting his hand drop. 

Napoleon watched as the dark sedan peeled out of the parking lot. It was too much to hope for that THRUSH would actually kill the bastard. And considering how Appleton had run with his tail between his legs from a simple one-two punch, there was no doubt in Napoleon's mind that Appleton would quickly succumb to THRUSH methods of interrogation and squawk like a bird, probably before they even hurt him.

He scowled. It was time to wake Illya up and leave the resort on the off chance that Appleton was returned quickly. He didn't want Illya to have to put up with any more of his crap. Napoleon sighed. One more reason to hate Appleton. It would have been nice to stay for another day or two with Illya. Napoleon pulled out his communicator to report in with headquarters and then headed up to the hotel room.

Thinking Illya still asleep, Napoleon forewent the coded knock and, using the key, entered the room. He was a bit startled to be faced with a fully awake partner pointing his gun at the door. Illya lowered the weapon. "Napoleon. I wondered where you'd gotten yourself off to."

"I thought you were still asleep."

Illya shook his head. "I heard a familiar voice muttering obscenities in the other room; it woke me up."

"Roger?"

Illya flashed him a surprised look. "How did you know?"

"He told me."

"He told you? When did you talk to him?"

"After he paid your room a visit. He wanted to express his extreme displeasure at my having my wicked way with you all night long, and that it was time to give you back."

Illya let out a disgruntled look accompanied by an equally disgusted sound. "I truly despise that man."

Napoleon let his lips form a pout and he held out his hand. "And look, he hurt my knuckles with his face."

Illya did a masterful job of keeping a grin off his face. His partner's effort at keeping his lips from twitching almost made Napoleon laugh out loud. He managed to hold the laugh in as Illya reached out to surround his hand with both of his and drag Napoleon closer to the bureau lamp so he could thoroughly investigate the wounded extremity.

For a thrilling second, Napoleon thought Illya might press his lips to the scrape to make it feel better.

Instead Illya just gave him a consoling look, the expression still battling with a grin. "He hurt your knuckles with his face? A truly heinous act." 

Napoleon was aware of the fact that while Illya, disappointingly, wasn't kissing his scraped knuckles, he seemed to have forgotten to let go of his hand. He nodded at Illya's comments. "He called me names, too."

Blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "You suffer much on my behalf, Napoleon."

Napoleon was enjoying the playacting. He reeled Illya in closer. "Ah, my galupchik, I would do anything for you."

Illya snorted. "Your little pigeon?"

"Hey, I'm in the middle of a scene here. Stop interrupting."

"Forgive me. Carry on."

"That's better." Napoleon found himself looking down into blue eyes, Illya's face a mesmerizing few inches from his own. He lost track of where he was. 

Illya gave him a small lopsided smile. "Do you need the prompter to give you your line?"

Napoleon nodded. "That would be helpful. I seem to have forgotten the script." Illya's hands were still holding his, and the contact felt delicious. He wanted more.

"Then I shall attempt to be of assistance." Illya leaned closer. 

Napoleon lowered his head a fraction of an inch, hardly daring to believe that Illya was going to prompt a kiss.

Illya leaned close enough to whisper in Napoleon's ear. "Where exactly is Roger right now? Are you sure he didn't follow you?"

Napoleon felt a deep flash of disappointment at this unexpected turn in the conversation. He turned his head to find that his lips were only centimeters away from Illya's. It took him a second to find his voice. "Are you sure that's my next line?" It was time to be kissing his partner, not talking about Appleton. 

"No, but it seemed a prudent one." Illya's breath was warm on his face. 

Napoleon swallowed, and tried to think. Appleton. Something about Appleton. Then his eyes widened and he took a step back. "Oh, I forgot. THRUSH picked him up. Considering that he's likely to bleat like a lamb within seconds, we might want to leave the premises before they bring him back. No point risking another altercation with him. Then I really would have to shoot him."

Illya was fighting hard not to grin. "THRUSH has Roger?"

Napoleon nodded. "Yes. I'm glad to say that the old boy is going to get the thrashing from THRUSH we both hoped he would."

A snicker snuck out. "After Roger came looking for me, I was…feeling annoyed with him, so I called Art and told him to change Roger's password. It was a childish revenge, but I knew it would be irksome for him to not be able to access his own data until he found a way to break in." He started to grin. A wicked grin.

Napoleon bounced happily on his toes. "So, in other words, when Roger tells THRUSH his password, they'll go try it and won't be able to get in." He started to grin. "They'll think Roger's lying to them." His grin grew maliciously bright. "Poor Roger."

Illya let out another snicker. "I must admit, things look bleak for him."

Napoleon watched as Illya started to scowl. "What?"

Illya let out an unhappy sigh. "Much as it pains me to ask…" He sighed again, "…do we need to attempt to rescue him?"

Napoleon shook his head. "No. I called the situation into headquarters. Waverly will let the local office know so they can keep an ear to the ground. Waverly has our next mission lined up, so we're off the hook."

Illya looked distinctly relieved. Napoleon had been relieved as well. If he never saw Appleton again, it would be too soon.

Illya looked at his watch. "When do we need to be back?"

Napoleon grinned. "Not until Monday." He gestured around the room. "And seeing as we're Roger free, and paid up for the week, I think we ought to stay and get a couple days' vacation out of it." 

Illya's eyes lit up. "I think you could talk me into that."

Napoleon gave Illya a look. "We'll have to just use the one room."

Illya gave Napoleon a small smile. "Of course."

Napoleon smiled back. "Good." He gestured at the adjoining door. "We need to get you checked out because we got that room by the day, and Waverly has no intention of paying for an extra night."

Illya nodded. "I'll pack up my things. And then I need to eat something."

"Room service or one of the restaurants?"

"One of the restaurants. I think I'd like to see the resort while I'm with someone whose company I enjoy."

Napoleon gave Illya a mischievous grin. "Why, Illya. That's downright friendly of you."

"Don't get used to it."

Napoleon laughed. Then he sobered. "You're feeling all right?"

Illya nodded. "I believe the drug has worked its way out of my system." He glanced up at Napoleon. "I must thank you again, my friend."

Napoleon shook his head. "Nothing you wouldn't have done for me."

Illya gave him a wry smile. "Yes, well, the next time one of your assignments slips you a drug so as to entice you to have your way with her, I'll stand at the ready to bail you out."

Napoleon gazed at Illya for a minute, thinking that it might just happen. Not the drug part, but the part about being less than desirous to bed a willing female. At least it would if the next couple of days worked out the way he wanted them to. He let out a short laugh, shooing Illya with a wave of a hand. "Go pack. I shall read through the dining guide and choose our eating establishment. And then to reward me, you can answer two questions instead of just the one you owe me."

Illya scowled at him, but obeyed, unlocking the door and entering the adjoining room. Napoleon listened as he rattled hangers and shuffled bags. He reentered the room and hung his clothes in the closet. He made a second trip, and shoved loose articles of clothing in one of the drawers of the bureau. The last trip secured his toiletries. He disappeared one more time, shutting the door behind him.

Napoleon got up from his chair and opened the front door to the room, and waited until Illya appeared from the room next door. "Got everything?"

Illya nodded. "Let's go eat."

While Illya held the door open, Napoleon grabbed the key, and the two men headed down the hall.

* * *

A leisurely meal, a long walk on the beach, and some roaming around the resort later, they were back in their hotel room, out on the balcony, drinks in hand, watching the sunset. Illya had begun to tire, and though he thought he'd hidden it from Napoleon, he hadn't. Napoleon had ushered them back up here so Illya could just sit and relax.

Now that he was here, on the balcony, Illya had to admit that it was nice to be sitting, knowing they had no place to go and nothing to do. His body was still feeling the effects of last night's drugging, and he was tired. Not ready for sleep, just tired.

Illya was glad to be with Napoleon. Glad that they'd managed to take some time for the two of them, as there was no one he'd rather spend his free time with. The only thing that would make it better was if he had a reason to get Napoleon to share his bed tonight. It was routine to share beds when one of them was sick. It allowed the well partner to keep a close eye on the ill partner. But he wasn't sick anymore.

He had hoped that Napoleon had been going to kiss him earlier in the day when they'd been acting out their silly dramatic lines. They'd been so close; he had felt Napoleon's breath on his face. It had been tempting to close the small gap between them and steal a kiss. But at the last minute, Illya had chickened out. What if he'd been wrong? What if he'd misread the whole thing? Creating a situation uncomfortable enough to potentially lose Napoleon as a friend and partner was not worth a stolen kiss, no matter how much he longed for it.

Normally he was more intuitive than this when it came to men, but he'd spent so long not thinking of Napoleon that way his radar was out of kilter. Napoleon related to the world as such a sexual being; Illya was finding it hard to discern if any of that energy was being directed at him, or if he was just picking up stray electrons. He scowled into his drink. 

"What are you making faces for?"

Illya looked up, his eyes wide, realizing he needed to get better control of himself. That was part of the problem. He didn't want to have to control himself around Napoleon; he didn't want to have to be on his guard over what he was thinking or saying. Illya just shook his head in response to his partner's question, hoping Napoleon would drop it. He should have known better.

"Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

Illya glanced over at Napoleon, the dark eyes capturing his gaze. Illya felt the pull of those eyes and it was all he could do not to stand up, cross the few feet that divided them, pull Napoleon up, and stake his claim. He tried to cover his disconcerting yearnings by going in the opposite direction. "You don't need to keep me company, Napoleon, if you desire some female companionship." 

Napoleon's gaze was steady. "I don't want any female companionship."

Illya found himself licking his lips. His voice wasn't as steady as he wished it might be. "What do you want, then?" Napoleon didn't answer for a minute, just kept looking at him. Illya's need grew.

Napoleon stood, stretched and picked up his empty glass. "I want another drink. How 'bout you?"

The disruption of the moment by Napoleon's casual banter was almost a relief. He stood as well, holding out his empty glass. Following Napoleon into the room, he perched on the end of his bed, and watched as Napoleon poured fresh drinks from the bottles ordered from room service.

Napoleon walked over to Illya and handed him his now full glass. "There is something I want, Illya."

Illya's stomach did flip-flops. It was a remarkable sensation; he was certain he'd never felt it before. He glanced up at his partner standing right in front of him, looking shamelessly handsome. The sexual want in Illya began to center in his groin. He cleared his throat. "What? What is it?"

Napoleon took a sip of scotch. "I want to ask you one of my two questions."

Illya closed his eyes and spoke sternly to himself to stop interpreting every action and word of Napoleon's as a potential come-on. He'd be ready for the nuthouse by the time the evening was over if he kept getting hard every time Napoleon looked at him. He needed to reconcile himself to the fact that this was how they'd spend their hours while they were here. Talking and getting to know each other. That's all. Time to accept the situation. He opened his eyes. "So ask." He wondered what Napoleon would ask, hoping it wasn't anything too painful, but determined to answer it regardless. When Napoleon didn't say anything, he prompted his partner. "Ask your question."

Napoleon took another sip, deliberating the wisdom in taking this final step. The next sixty seconds could determine their future, whether they walked it together or apart. He made his decision, and put his glass down on the bureau, then reached out to pluck Illya's glass out of his hand, placing it on the bureau next to his. Then he held out a hand to Illya.

Illya took it, confusion on his face. Napoleon pulled him up, keeping him close. "You did say I could ask you anything, right?"

Illya nodded, his eyes confused, curious.

"Then this is my question. Will you let me kiss you?" Napoleon waited, breathless with nervous anticipation.

The initial shock in Illya's eyes was like being doused in cold water, but the gleam of delight that quickly followed ramped the heat in Napoleon's body even higher. Illya gave him a saucy grin. "Yes, but please get on with it, Napoleon."

Napoleon had no intention of letting Illya get away with being such a smart aleck when he'd taken the risk of asking in the first place. He swung Illya around and pushed him against the wall, pressing close. Taking in the startled blue eyes, and watching as they darkened with desire, Napoleon lowered his head and captured Illya's lips with his, starting the dance, claiming the lead.

Napoleon played his tongue over the lips that had been on his mind since Illya, right in front of him, had metamorphosed into someone infinitely desirable, yet still staying so much the partner and friend he couldn't imagine his life without. The combination was a potent concoction. When mixed with the taste of Illya's mouth, a hint of vodka, and a trace of chocolate from the rich torte Illya had eaten for dessert, enhanced by the male smell of his partner that reminded him of friendship, bravery, and loyalty, Napoleon became drunk on the stuff. He had no intention of ever being sober again.

He pulled back to look at Illya, and he shook his head as he stared into blue eyes. "How did I not see it?" Illya was everything he wanted, and he'd been there all along.

"Shut up, Napoleon, and keep kissing me."

"Don't start getting bossy with me, Kuryakin." Napoleon grinned as he skimmed Illya's lips with his own, frustrating Illya's attempts to lead the kissing where he wanted it to go.

"If you don't kiss me, I will have to break your arms."

Napoleon let out a laugh. "No, that was only if I told you what to wear."

Illya's brow furrowed. "What?" He scowled. "For someone reputed to be such a lover, you have an infuriating habit of interrupting things just when they're getting interesting." Illya grabbed the back of Napoleon's head to hold him still. 

Napoleon broke away from his partner's hold, barely, finding an intense erotic pleasure in knowing how strong and lethal his lover was. "I'm sorry, but I have a fantasy to fulfill."

That got Illya's attention. And while he was busy thinking for a few seconds, Napoleon sank to his knees. Leaning forward he placed his mouth over the hardened mound of Illya's cock, teasing the length of him through the fabric with gentle bites.

Illya slammed back against the wall. "Bozhe moi. Oh, Napoleon."

Napoleon's fingers were busy unbuckling Illya's belt while his mouth continued to nibble. He focused on the pants button and zipper, impatient to finally taste what he'd been dreaming about. Napoleon reached up and worked the pants down just far enough to free Illya's now erect cock.

He ran his tongue from the root to the tip. "I'm glad these pants are easier to get off." Napoleon grinned impishly up at Illya, tapping the hard erection. "Although," he continued, as he moved lower and laved the soft sacs with his tongue, "the same thing happened to you last night when I took off your pants."

Illya's voice was a bit on the breathless side. "I wanted you to take me in your mouth last night."

Napoleon blew on the tip, and swirled his tongue around the slit, tasting a hint of pre-ejaculate. "I wanted it, too. I've wanted you in my mouth ever since I saw you in those black pants. I wanted to put you up against a wall, and suck you off."

Illya let out a groan. "Then would you stop talking about it and do it?"

Napoleon grinned but complied. He opened his mouth and took as much of Illya's shaft as he could, one hand holding Illya's hip, keeping him in place, one hand playing with his balls. 

Illya's groans were music to his ears. He opened his eyes and glanced up at his partner and was captivated by what he saw. Illya's head was thrown back, his lips parted as he panted for breath. His hands were pressed against the wall, as if it was the only thing holding him up. The eyes opened and blue eyes gazed down at him.

Illya removed a hand from the wall and rested it on Napoleon's head, the fingers making small caressing movements through his hair. Napoleon was captivated by the look in his partner's eyes. He'd never seen it before; he wasn't sure he could interpret it. 

Napoleon had thought his own cock was hard already, but somehow, in the heat of Illya's blue gaze, and that indefinable look in his eyes as he stroked Illya's cock with his hand and his mouth, he became so hard it almost hurt. He actually wondered if, for the first time since he was an inexperienced teenager, he might not just come in his pants. 

Illya's hand began to wander down Napoleon's face. Napoleon watched a new expression form on his face and he tried to interpret it. Confusion? Apprehension? Napoleon released Illya's penis to make sure his partner was all right. "What is it? What's that look for?"

Illya shook his head. "I…I don't quite believe this is happening. Is it really you, doing this to me?" Illya ran his fingers along Napoleon's wet lips.

Napoleon sucked one of Illya's fingers inside his mouth and softly bit the pad, his tongue swirling around the digit. Then he released it. "It better be, or this is one hell of a dream."

Illya touched Napoleon's lips again. "Suck me, Napoleon. Let me feel your lips on me."

Napoleon was only too willing to obey, moving south first, wanting to feel the soft sacs in his mouth. He gently sucked them in, rolling them around, loving their texture. Then he noticed that Illya was slowly stroking himself as Napoleon lavished all his attention down below.

Napoleon shook his head, slapping Illya's hand away. "Put this back on the wall. This is all for me, this time around. I'll watch you play another time."

Illya let out a groan of frustration but placed his hand back on the wall. "Then finish me off." 

Napoleon tut-tutted. "So impatient, my Russian friend. Some things are meant to be savored."

Illya let out another groan as Napoleon teased his cock with flicks of his tongue. "You will be the death of me."

Napoleon stopped the complaints by taking the Russian cock in his mouth. Considering how hard and uncomfortable his own cock was, he decided that it probably was time to put Illya out of his misery. Using all his skill, he moved up and down the shaft with his mouth, in a steady rhythm. Between the heated groans, and the balls tightening under his fingers, Napoleon could tell his partner was close. 

He felt a fierce exultation as Illya let out a warning cry and then ejaculated in his mouth. Napoleon greedily swallowed every drop. And then, as much as he wanted to keep sucking, he found his attention distracted as Illya's knees gave out. Grinning smugly, he assisted him to the floor.

Napoleon lay on his side, up on his elbow so he could look down at Illya. A very relaxed, practically out-for-the-count Illya. Napoleon let out a half-laugh. "That was great."

A corner of Illya's lips curved up. "I think that's supposed to be my line."

"Yeah, well, you seemed incapable of speech so I thought I'd help you out."

"Hmm."

Napoleon grinned at the contented hum, recognizing it from last night. Running his hand down Illya's face, his fingers traced the edges of his lips. He thought of those lips on his cock and pressed closer to Illya's body.

Illya cracked his eye open. "What's that poking my leg?"

Napoleon prodded him again. "Something that's feeling a bit left out."

"I guess I better do something about that, then."

"You better, or you're going to have a mess on your leg."

Illya grinned, and gently pushed Napoleon away so he could stand. He held a hand out to Napoleon and said, "Let's get rid of these clothes and move this to the bed."

That sounded like a good idea to Napoleon. He grabbed Illya's hand and let himself be pulled up. Both men hurriedly pulled off their clothes and when they were done, Napoleon found himself the recipient of a strong hug. He wrapped his arms around Illya, only too glad to hug him back, to feel their naked bodies flush against each other. 

Then he felt Illya encouraging him into bed and shivered as Illya began to press wet kisses on his overheated skin, making his way down Napoleon's body. 

As he felt Illya take command of his body and take Napoleon's shaft in his mouth, he had to admit that Illya was an expert at this. Napoleon's hands fisted in the sheets and he let out a groan. No one had ever, oh God, done that to him, or, God in heaven, that. Jesus, he was good. Wonderfully good. Practice did make perfect sometimes.

A stray thought made its way through Napoleon's sexual haze. Never. Illya's answer to his question of yesterday. Never. And suddenly Napoleon had to know. He pulled on Illya's shoulders.

Illya resisted.

Napoleon insisted. "Illya, come here."

Illya looked up and must have seen something in Napoleon's face, because he obeyed. "What is it?" There was a pause, and a look of wariness crossed his face. "Changing your mind?"

Napoleon's brow furrowed at the question, letting it percolate. Changing his mind? About what? Then, realizing what Illya was asking, he shook his head, and held Illya tightly. "No, not at all. Never." The word reminded him of his mission. "I want to ask my second question."

Illya shot him an incredulous look. "What? Now?" His eyes swept their naked bodies. "Can't it wait?"

Napoleon shook his head. "No, I have to ask it now."

Illya gave Napoleon a look that implied that he had completely lost his mind, but he settled down on the bed next to Napoleon and waited. 

"You know that question I asked you yesterday? The one about you and sex? Do you remember your answer?"

Illya nodded, letting out a small chuff of amusement. "I'm hardly likely to forget."

"What would your answer be now?" Napoleon gazed at his partner, listening intently, needing to hear the ring of truth in Illya's voice as he spoke.

Illya gave him a gentle smile. "Do you really have to ask? Can't you tell?" He reached up and tenderly caressed Napoleon's face. "Now, Napoleon. My answer would be now."

"So it's you? For real?"

"It's me. No games, no roles. Just me, loving you."

"Loving me?" Napoleon's heart was so hungry for that love, it ached. And then he saw that look in Illya's eyes again, the one he'd never seen before, the one he hadn't recognized, and he realized it was love, Illya's love for him, nothing held back, all the shields gone. 

Illya leaned over and kissed Napoleon. "Loving you."

Napoleon lost himself in that kiss, feeling more connected to Illya in that moment than he'd ever felt to anyone. Heart to heart, soul to soul.

Illya pulled back from the kiss and Napoleon let out a disappointed growl and chased his lips. Illya put a hand on his chest to stop him. "Napoleon?"

Napoleon opened his eyes, and now that he knew what it was, he drank in that loving look in the brilliant blue eyes. "What?"

"Are you done talking now? Do you have any more questions, or comments, or jokes you feel the need to share?"

Napoleon gave Illya a lopsided grin. "I'm done for the time being."

"Do you always talk this much when you are in bed with someone?"

Napoleon nodded. "Always. Does it bother you?" he asked, wincing. It was true; he liked to talk while he was having sex. He guessed he could try to stop. 

The corners of Illya's lips twitched. "I suppose I can get used to it." He snaked a hand down Napoleon's body and took a firm grip on his cock. "But if you ever call me baby or sweetheart, I will hurt you."

Napoleon barked out a strained laugh. "I'll do my best."

Illya let out a humph, and moved down so his mouth could join his hand. Napoleon let his head fall back and thrust up as Illya's mouth came down warm and strong on his shaft. It wasn't going to take him long, not this time, not with that talented mouth working him. 

When his orgasm hit, Napoleon almost blacked out. He could sense Illya sucking the last of his cum out, and then gently releasing him, moving up to take Napoleon in his arms. This was new for Napoleon, having someone shelter him when the sex was over, being able to allow the somnolence, the weakness, the utter relaxation. He realized that there was no one else on the face of the planet with whom he could relax this completely. He nestled down in Illya's arms and softly murmured, "I love you."

It took him a minute to realize that Illya was lying very still. Napoleon opened his eyes to find his partner staring at him. "What?"

"Do you…do you always say that?"

Napoleon didn't want to have to think too hard right now. "Say what?"

"That you love them. Do you always say that to your sex partners?"

Napoleon supposed that was a reasonable question. He was glad he hadn't said I love you, babe. Or sweetheart. He hoped he could remember not to say those words. He rolled Illya until he was on his back, and Napoleon was half lying on top of him. "No. I only say that to someone I really love. And that has happened very few times in my life, and right now, and for as far into my future as I can see, hopefully 'til the end of it, that means you."

Napoleon watched as Illya considered his words, praying they'd be believed. His heart swelled in his chest as he saw the smile his partner gave him, and the hesitant words. "No one has ever said that to me before."

"That they loved you?" 

Illya nodded.

Napoleon experienced a sense of sadness for the isolation Illya had lived in, coupled with a delighted sense of proprietary pride. "More fools, they."

Illya gave him a wry grin. "You must remember that I'm not an easy person to like."

Napoleon let out a soft laugh. "The next thing you'll be telling me is that you're not very friendly, either."

"I'm not."

Napoleon let more of his weight rest on his partner, and he rubbed his groin against Illya's. "You seem very friendly to me."

Illya grinned at him. "I can be even friendlier, with the right motivation."

"And what, my little white Russian, is the right motivation?"

Illya moved his hands down until he was cupping Napoleon's ass. "You."

Napoleon laughed again, and nuzzled Illya's neck. "See? Very friendly."

"Unless, of course, you call me your little white Russian again."

The End 


End file.
